Elements of Deception
by kazlynh
Summary: Pre-Hoth: Luke, Wedge, Hobbie and three other pilots are on Gehndaaria, to pick-up X-wings secured by the head of the Diazez Cartel. It should be a straight-forward mission... Not EU, based on the movies only
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

The sun hung low on the horizon. A warm breeze tugged softly at the cloth coverings of the stalls. In the gentle heat of the early evening, the market bustled with activity. The aroma of fruit and perfumes mingled with the smell of spices and cooking food. Arm round Alissha Downhigher, Wedge Antilles wandered through the market, savouring the sights and sounds and wondering if he should spend the extra ten credits on the pale jade shirt with the gold trim… Or should he just get the dark green one? Of course, if they'd had a dark green one with gold trim that would have solved the problem….

Alissha slapped him lightly across the back of the head, "Hello? Is anyone at home in there?"

"What?" he grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. You were saying…"

"I asked," she told him, pointing to a stall selling cakes and cookies that were covered in brightly coloured fondant icing or dusted with fine grain sugar, "if you thought we should pick up some of those iced cookies for the others?"

Wedge followed her gaze, mouth watering as the baker pulled another tray of cakes out of the oven. "Nah," he told her wickedly, "That would have been the first stall Hobbie found and he didn't bring any back to us."

"Awe," she admonished, "don't be mean! He would have…."

She trailed off as a sparkle of rainbow-coloured light from a stall further along drew her attention. Letting Wedge go she ordered, "You get the cakes. I want to have a look at these."

Before he could protest she darted over to a stall where crystal jewellery flashed in the evening sun. She ran her gaze across the contents then picked up a tiny pendant of purple/red crystal bound in silver. Slowly, as she held it in the palm of her hand, the crystal changed colour to a deep crimson.

The woman on the other side of the stall smiled at her knowingly, nodding and telling her, ^_Saey san'kol!! Binba ger!! ^_

The deep tones of a bell rang out across the square announcing that it was eight hours after mid-day. Making his way across to Alissha, Wedge moved the box of cookies onto his other hand and glanced at his timepiece.

They weren't here to enjoy themselves - unfortunately. Much as he would have liked some rest and recuperation, and as much as they all needed it, they were here to meet a Rebel Alliance agent. Six Incom T-65s were hidden somewhere near the city, ready and waiting to be handed over to them and flown out, which was why he and the others were here. The agent had given them the name and location of a hotel and the room number where they would be contacted, but had been unable to give an exact rendezvous time – just a date plus or minus three days.

The Rebel pilots had arrived in separate groups, at different times and from different places. However, six supposed _tourists_ at the same hotel staying in their rooms all day, possibly for the full seven days was bound to draw attention: if only from the hotel staff. He, Alissha, Luke and Lainey had waited in the hotel room the previous day - D minus three - while Brin and Hobbie had wandered the city. Today, he and Alissha had savoured the sites.

They all had com links but Luke had decided everyone should get back to the hotel for sunset – just in case. To say that Gehndaarian nightlife could get lively would be an understatement and the last thing they needed was to get picked up by the local law enforcement officers. Only the bravest or stupidest of tourists dared an evening out in the Gehndaarian capitol.

Wedge reached Alissha, touching her arm with a sigh, "We'd better think about heading back."

Reluctantly Alissha put the pendant back down on the table. Then she changed her mind, digging into her pocket for credits. The young woman behind the stall smiled as she took the proffered money, ^_Cheydaa san'kol maya ha ney??_^

Alissha thought for a moment about whether or not to wear it then shook her head, ^_Pa'assh.. Monha sey'dal tue dalla..^_

Nodding, the woman picked up the pendant, wrapping it in tissue and securing it in a sand coloured box before handing it over. Her eyes flickered across to Wedge then back to the female pilot and as Alissha took the box she winked, her smile growing broader, ^_Peek'ha na saey san'kol brielk binba hal'ladah gren..^_

Wedge didn't understand the conversation but he watched the slow grin that spread itself across Alissha's face, saw the conspiratorial nod and, if he hadn't know otherwise, would have sworn that Alissha blushed slightly.

Alissha was loud, forthright, abrupt at times and very much straight to the point, with the dirtiest sense of humour of any of the Flight. She said what she thought and didn't beat about the bush. And in all the time that he had known her, he had never seen her blush once.

The pink tinge to her cheeks had already disappeared as she laughed and slipped her arm around his waist. _^Monha grel tan binba!!_^ Alissha smirked._ ^San'kol tue passan takey'ha..^_

^_Aagh… Teu'dah …^ _the other woman acknowledged with a chuckle, glancing at Wedge. ^_Geyy funshan!!^_

Wedge looked from the vendor to Alissha, scowling in good humour. The woman laughed at his expression, turning away to deal with another customer.

Giggling, Alissha drew Wedge away from the stall, heading towards the south market gate. Wedge waited until they were three or four stalls away from the jeweller's then asked, "And what was that all about?"

"Oh, nothing…" Alissha avoided in her little girl voice.

Wedge tightened his arm round her waist, pulling her towards him, putting as much threat as he could into his voice, demanding, "Ali?"

She wriggled out of his grip, grinning, "Oh, she was just commenting that she didn't think I had any need to buy a fertility symbol when I had such a strapping specimen of manhood under my charms!"

She turned, tilting her head coquettishly and looking at him through fluttering eyelashes, dropping back into the little girl voice, "So I told her that I wanted many children and that I would only use it if your strength started failing you!"

He tried to give her a flat, level look and failed miserably in the face of the impish smile and the vastly exaggerated fluttering of eyelashes. Laughing, he shook his head, "Downhigher, you are incorrigible!"

She slipped her arm back round his waist, "Well, we **are** supposed to be husband and wife. And let's face it," she continued as they began walking again, "life would be dull and boring without me around to liven things up."

"And is that what you told the poor little rookie you wore out just before we left?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She thumped him on the chest, "Poor little rookie nothing! He had a fabulous time! And the boy has to learn that if you're going to make comments like that you'd better be prepared to stand your ground!"

"I wouldn't have thought he had the strength to stand after you were finished with him!"

"Oh, he had the strength left…" she began, voice dripping with sweetness and innocence, "he just couldn't get out of the ropes!"

Wedge collapsed into fits of helpless laughter. Shaking her head, Alissha rescued the box of cookies before they landed on the ground. Pulling one out, she savoured a delicate bite before trying to guide a still-laughing Wedge towards the gate, shrugging her shoulders in mock embarrassment at the passers-by who smiled indulgently at a young couple obviously enjoying themselves.

At a nearby stall a tall, slender, dark-haired man glanced across towards the laughter then did a slow double-take, looking away before the couple could see his interest. Frowning slightly, lost in thought, he turned back to the trader, his fingers running across the intricate carvings of the wooden flute in his hands.

^_Yents treljnah gri'iv seygret dah'ha shen avka?_^ the trader asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He shook his head, handing the flute across, "No need. I'll take this one."

Laughter finally dying into a sigh, Wedge put his arm round Alissha's waist. He shook his head then pulled her towards him, making a successful grab for the box of baked goods. Letting her go he opened the box, choosing a cookie covered in blue icing. Biting into the tart, spicy tang of cippera seeds mingling with the sweet, engranberrie flavouring of the fondant, he groaned softly in delight.

Alissha grinned, reaching for the box again, "Good, aren't they?"

"Mmm," Wedge agreed through a mouthful of crumbs. "Luke doesn't know what he's missing!"

Luke was the only one of the group who had been ordered to remain in the hotel room. Operations had been against the idea of Skywalker even going on the mission so soon after the destruction of the Death Star at Yavin, especially since the Imperial Navy had decided to make him, above all the others who had survived, their primary target for retribution. There had been no one else available at such short notice, though, and Luke had been grousing about being stuck inside since he'd arrived. His companions had been taking every possible opportunity to throw it in his face, though, which wasn't helping…

They turned into the main thoroughfare, heading back towards the hotel. Ahead of them the sun slipped down behind the cityscape and streetlights flickered into existence. Shopkeepers were closing up, pulling their wares in from the street displays and closing the coloured awnings that both shaded their customers from the sun and kept them dry in the rain.

A young man walked out of a boot shop and Alissha's heart lurched. Tall, slender, with shoulder-length, dark hair, she had mistaken him for her brother for a moment… before the memories had slammed at her.

It couldn't be Shedran. Her brother Shedran, was dead. As was her fiancé… As was everyone else who had been on Alderaan...

Guilt, that she should have, however briefly, forgotten her grief, forgotten why she and the others were here, pricked at her conscience. The cake in her hand was suddenly, sickeningly sweet, the pendant an unnecessary extravagance. The darkening streets had changed, sinister and hostile now, the frivolity gone.

This time last year she had been at university on Calaador, studying to become a teacher, full of plans for the future, naive in a universe that had never done her any wrong. And then Alderaan had gone. She had stood in the University Square, watching the telecasts in numb terror as the newsreader revelled in the horror of it all. Around her people whispered in disbelief. Behind her someone had collapsed, screaming in grief.

Alissha took a deep, quavering breath, trying to stop the tears and failed. Swearing, she dashed them away as they spilled over and down onto her cheek. Wedge glanced at her then stopped, turning her towards him and giving her time to compose herself before asking, "You okay?"

Nodding, not trusting her voice, she refused to look at him.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, softly.

She shook her head, saying nothing. He considered his options for a moment then decided to plunge in at the deep end. "You're going to have to talk to someone at some point," he tried. She remained stubbornly silent and he continued, "You can't get through this on your own. No-one can."

She looked at him, the defiance and determination in her eyes surprising him in its intensity. "You have! What makes you think I can't?"

He shook his head slowly, allowing all the pain, sorrow and guilt to show on his face, telling her quietly, "I haven't..."

He closed his eyes, "There's not a day goes by that I don't think about my family. They've given me a purpose, given me a reason to fight on, to work my way through everything else. All I have to do is think of what my brother and the others on the Tantive must have had to endure… and everything falls into perspective."

He paused for a moment then admitted, "But if it wasn't for that, I'd be a mess."

Alissha was looking at him, eyes bright with tears, but he could see the underlying defiance and decided not to press the point. Instead he shrugged his shoulders, "All I'm trying to say is that I'm here if you ever need to talk."

"I'm fine."

A young girl with azure skin and long white hair woven into a thick braid down her back, darted across the street, stopping beside them. She reached up, tugging on Alissha's sleeve.

"Hey, Missy!"

Startled both pilots looked down at her. The girl screwed up her face giving Wedge a hard, disgusted look before turning her attention back to Alissha, "Missy, he give you trouble?"

Alissha looked at her, "What?"

"You cry!" the child accused, biting her lip and glaring at Wedge, "He give you trouble? I have brothers. They get rid of him!"

Alissha smiled at her incredulously then shook her head, "No… Thank you, but no. As tempting as the offer is, I married him for better and for worse."

The little girl crossed her arms, giving Wedge a clinical once over, "He your husband?"

"Yes."

"Then perhaps you sell him? He make good price! He strong!" She looked back at Alissha, "He good in bed? I buy him maybe!"

Open mouthed, Wedge looked at the child then at Alissha who was trying desperately hard not to laugh. She dropped to one knee, winking at the little girl and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial murmur, "I have him trained the way I want him. He only thinks he's in charge! Truth be told it would be too much trouble to break in another one."

The child considered her for a moment, "Okay, Missy. But you ever want to sell, I here! Got it?"

"Absolutely," Alissha assured her, "You'll be my first stop!"

The child grinned, "Okay. Bye!"

She darted away, disappearing into a doorway. Alissha climbed to her feet, slowly shaking her head.

"So I only think I'm in charge, do I?" Wedge accused, eyes flashing devilment.

Alissha giggled, the despondency pushed away for the moment, putting her arm through his, "Absolutely not, Assistant Boss. Of course you're in charge, Assistant Boss. How would Luke cope without you, Assistant Boss?"

Leaning nonchalantly against a doorway, Pashra Navreen watched as the couple turned, heading down the street towards the hotels. The little girl with the azure skin sidled up to him. He glanced down at her and by the time he looked back, Wedge and Alissha had been lost in the crowd. The child looked up at him, biting her lip in consternation when he said nothing to her. "I did as you ask, Mister," she informed him finally.

Slowly, he dropped his gaze back to her, "Where did you put it?"

"On her sleeve. She not notice. Where my money?"

Pashra smiled, dropping his hand lightly onto the girl's head, "Patience, little one."

"Patience nothing!" she countered petulantly, pulling away, "Where my money?"

He began to laugh at her stubbornness then, on impulse, decided to give the child a choice of payment. "Well," he began, "there you have a decision to make."

He held out some coins, asking, "Do you want the credits?" Then he pulled the carved flute from his pocket, continuing, "Or would you like this instead?"

She caught her breath. Eyes wide she looked from the flute to the money and back again. Then she reached out, delicately taking the flute from him, "Is beautiful…."

"Just as beautiful as you, little one."

She ran her fingers across the carvings, brushing them against the holes as she put the instrument to her lips, blowing softly across the mouthpiece and running a scale of crystal notes into the air. Then she was gone, darting away out of the doorway and disappearing up another side street. He shook his head, somehow knowing that she would choose the instrument over the money.

He dropped the coins back into his pocket and reached for the tracking unit in his inside pocket. He thumbed it on, sending out a signal to the tiny transceiver the child had stuck into the cloth of the woman's jacket. The light blinked green, confirming activation. The transceiver would reply only when interrogated, negating any need for a cloaking device. All he had to do now was follow it. And once he had located them he could go back to the ship and find out why he recognised the dark-haired man.

.oo00oo.

Yolan Nabrood padded across the room with a lithe, easy grace that only hinted of his strength and speed. He had never been everyone's idea of handsome and the scar that now ran down his left cheek from ear to mouth only added to the impression that this was not a man you would want as an enemy. Taciturn and dangerous he might be, but he had a laugh that melted women's hearts and Jenniiya had seen those eyes spark mischief as well as death.

Now, however, his face was blank, his eyes unreadable. Jenniiya knew her second in command well enough to read his mood in the way he carried himself. And now he was more than a little displeased with something.

"We've hidden the T-65s in the forest near the old mines," he told her as he dropped into the chair across the desk from her. "They won't be found."

She gave him a flat look, "But?"

"There are only five!"

Jenniiya kept the displeasure from showing on her face, standing up and turning to look out of the window across the gardens, "When does the last one arrive?"

He made a small sound of disgust, "It doesn't. They say they could only get five."

She said nothing for a moment, then asked, "Did they return the money?"

"They're playing games with us, Manwah!" he accused in distaste. His use of _Manwah_, the term of respect only ever given to the Director of the Diazezcartel, reconfirmed his anger at the whole affair.

Jenniiya laughed, lightly and coldly, "You would have thought that the Corxians would have known better after their little run-in with the Hutts... I take it that we haven't allowed them to leave."

"The Port Authorities are, most unfortunately, going through their manifest item by item as we speak." He pushed himself out of the chair, "Where do you want them?"

"Oh, let's be civilised about it. My apartments for..." she waved her hand in the air, "a late supper, I think."

He grinned, "Understood. I'll see to it personally."

"Be careful with them, Yolan," she cautioned, "The new Imperial Governor arrived today."

Nabrood swore, colourfully, exactly the reaction she had expected. The Governor was supposed to have arrived the previous month but the date had been put back, then back again. They had hoped to have the Rebel fighters in and out before he finally arrived. "So he finally got here." He clenched his fists, "Their grip grows uncomfortably tight!"

"Mmm," Jenniiya agreed, sitting back down at her desk, "but we'll find out soon enough how pliable he is. Until then we must be… inventive. Oh, I invited him for dinner tomorrow evening. He's already accepted."

Nabrood's eyes narrowed, "Is my presence required?"

"Most definitely! Lyn also. I'm planning a relaxed business meeting to find out exactly how much he knows about our operation. I think both my personal assistant and my bodyguard should be there."

The smile that touched the corners of his lips was cold. He enjoyed portraying the part of the silent bodyguard to Lyn's tongue-tied, nervous assistant when Jenniiya was playing her little games - especially if it was with a jumped-up, self-important autocrat, "I look forward to it."

She pulled a face, "_I_ don't. But needs must." She thought for a moment, switching topics, "I think we should leave the Alliance pilots where they are, at least for this evening. We should have the T-65 problem resolve tonight. We can start bringing them in tomorrow. They're playing it safe enough, so I doubt anyone has seen anything amiss. And the Imperials have been too busy fawning over their new Governor."

He nodded, "Understood. Who's watching them?"

"Gab and her street mob. Lyn's dealing with them. They're checking in with her now."

"Fine." He turned, walking towards the door, "I'll take Zren and Gage with me… just in case they are crass enough to turn down your kind invitation." He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone.

Jenniiya stood up, turning back to the window, watching the last rays of light above the rooftops fade towards mauve and the stars begin to appear. This was going to be tricky: six Rebel Alliance pilots, five fighters and a new Imperial Governor. Stir lightly and bake in the hottest week yet of the Gehndaarian summer.

She sighed, resting her head against the cool glass of the window. _The Diazez Cartel does not concern itself with politics_. How many times had her father told her that? _Leave the politics to the Senate_.

She knew that she had been taking a chance with the fighters. But in the five years since her father had died and she had inherited the leadership of the Cartel, Alderaan had been "destroyed", the Emperor had dissolved the Senate and she had watched with growing concern as the Empire tightened its grip and shortened its leashes. The Rebel Alliance had, at first, been merely a nuisance. Then it had grown into something to make money out of. And now, here she was, in a negative profit situation because of X-wings for that same Rebel Alliance - and that was before the Corxians had tried to swindle her out of a fighter.

They would pay for that mistake - especially if it caused questions to be asked by the other clans who composed the cartel.

Their concerns mirroring her own, Nabrood and Lyn had both agreed with what she was doing, but others, particularly those of her father's generation, would not. She would have a hard time persuading them otherwise. In the past two hundred years no one had tried to "retire" the Cartel's Director… but it was still a possibility. More so in today's climate when the continuing rise of Imperial power was giving people ideas of their own importance…

And now she had the added problem of a redundant Rebel pilot. Even if the Corxian brothers had the sixth fighter, and she doubted that, it was highly unlikely that they could deliver it in such a tight time-scale.

As Jenniiya saw it, she had four choices – she could provide transportation for the pilot back to the Alliance; let them make their own way back; keep them here; or hand them over to the Empire.

Despite her sympathies towards the Rebel Alliance she would do nothing to endanger the multi-faceted unit of the Cartel - or her people. If the situation called for the pilots being handed over she would, however reluctantly. Ensuring that the Corxian Gribbs brothers understood her displeasure over the present matter had nothing to do with the Alliance, it was simply a matter of business etiquette.

Turning away from the window she sat back down in the chair. Her final decision would depend on the events of the next few days. So, she resolved, there was no point in worrying about it until after her little audience this evening. Besides, all she had done was purchase six fighters from associates. That could easily be explained away to any who asked – as could the armament shipments. She was, after all, a businesswoman trying to turn a profit.

She pushed herself to her feet, realising that it was her own conscience causing the problem, nothing else.

And the Corxians could surprise her yet.

She walked towards a side door, heading for her apartments. It had been a long, tiring day. She needed a bath and a change of clothes before her _guests_ arrived.

.oo00oo.

Haniff-Brin Aksha opened the box, stared for a moment then sighed in contentment, "Ali, darling, will you marry me?"

Alissha grinned, dropping into a chair and propping her feet up on the bed, "Nothing to do with me, Aksha, my old buddy. Wedge bought them."

Brin paused mid-chew, considering the possibilities. "What are the regulations on marrying your superior officer?"

Wedge, face deadly serious, shook his head, "Couldn't do it Brin, sorry. You'd have to move to another section. And I couldn't do that to anyone else."

"Awe, Wedge," Alissha groaned, "we nearly got rid of him there! Why'd you have to spoil it!"

"Because I'm never going to let him forget that I risked life and limb to buy him cakes." He threw his jacket onto the bed as Brin gave him a sour look. Alissha chuckled, swinging her legs to the floor and reaching for the box of goodies. "Anything interesting going on?" Wedge asked.

Brin mumbled incoherence through a mouthful of crumbs. Alissha swatted him across the back of the head, "Didn't your mother teach you _any_ manners?"

Hobbie appeared from the shower room to Alissha's low, appreciative whistle, dressed only in a towel, moisture shining against his dark skin, his hair tousled. "Roughly translated," he told them, "that means that the Imperial Governor arrived today."

"Amid much pageantry," Brin mumbled. Then, as Wedge swore, he continued, "Funnily enough that was almost exactly my reaction…"

"Although he wasn't just as concise as you."

"Hasn't had the training," Alissha quipped. "Takes training to swear as concisely as Wedge Antilles."

"And poise," Hobbie put in, "Don't forget the poise!"

"Panache…"

"Ability…"

Brin pouted slightly as they continued the list, glaring at the two of them from beneath his eyebrows. "I hate you both!"

Wedge was only half listening to the banter, mind running through the ramifications of the Governor's arrival. Major Derlin had briefed Luke and him about this possibility. They'd decided not to inform the other pilots. If the Governor _had_ arrived when he was due, they would have worried the others unnecessarily. And this could be both good and bad news. On the one hand the Imperial toadies would be falling over each other trying to ingratiate themselves with the new Governor… on the other hand security would be tighter.

"Have Luke and Lainey been along?"

"Yup. They left about ten minutes before you arrived," Brin confirmed, "They were talking about room service… Well," he clarified as Alissha almost choked on her cookie, "the Boss was..."

"Room service? Derlin will kill them!"

"Under the circumstances…" Wedge said slowly, "Luke may have a point. At least until we find out how the Governor's arrival is going to change things. Derlin won't be the only one wanting to kill us if we end up appearing on the early morning newscasts with other citizens of the Gehndaari capital welcoming their new lord and master."

"Quick thinking, oh vice-lord and master," Hobbie agreed.

"Awe," Alissha groaned, "And I was _so_ looking forward to waving a big hello to the Major!" She studied Hobbie for a moment, "Hey! I hope that's not my towel you're wearing!"

He grinned, "Why? Do you want it back?"

"Better watch your mouth," Brin warned, "Look what happened to the last bloke who tried to take her on!"

Hobbie's smile faded to a look of mock horror, "Poor child..."

"Poor child, nothing...." Alissha defended, "He was..."

"A rookie!" Brin interrupted.

"A rookie who should have watched his mouth!" Wedge commented, quietly. They all turned to look at him and he grinned, admitting, "She gave him fair warning. He pushed the point!"

"Exactly!" Alissha put in, standing up and slowly moving towards Hobbie, "Just like I'm giving _you_ fair warning, Hobbie Klivian!" He held his ground and she batted her eyelids, running her finger lightly down his chest towards the edge of the towel, "Do _you_ want to push the point?"

He did nothing for a moment, simply looked at her. Then he called her bluff, catching the end of the towel and pulling it off. Lobbing it at her he asked, "Can I use your towel Wedge?"

"You are disgusting!" Alissha yelped in mock horror, throwing the towel into his face.

He caught it and took a step towards her. "Oh... So now you're happy for me to use it?" he asked, voice low and menacing.

Brin looked across at Wedge, holding out a hand, "Ten credits on Ali!"

Wedge grinned at him and shook his hand, "Done!"

Alissha held her ground, "You've already soiled it! You may as well just carry on!"

"What, even though I'm disgusting?" Hobbie demanded.

The door chime rang. Hobbie turned, looking at Wedge who motioned for both he and Brin to go back to their own room through the adjoining door. He stood up, walking across the floor as they both slipped out of the room, closing the adjoining door behind them. Alissha dropped onto the bed, kicking off her shoes and picking up the newspad Brin had been reading when they arrived. Wedge hit the door button and it slid back.

Luke grinned at him, "Knew from the noise in here that you two had to be back! Are we getting room service or ordering in, because I'm starved?"

Wedge stood back, letting Luke and Lainey into the room, "We were discussing exactly that dilemma before Hobbie's towel changed the topic of conversation..."

Luke started to ask what he was talking about, then did a double take as he saw the open cookie box lying on Wedge's bed. "Wow!" he breathed, pushing past Wedge and making a dive for the box.

"Hobbie's towel?" Lainey asked as Luke picked out a cookie and bit into the pastry.

On cue the connecting door opened and both Hobbie and Brin appeared. Lainey gave a low, appreciative whistle and made a beeline for the blond pilot who was still clad only in a towel, "Hel-lo, hon-ney!"

Hobbie yelped and retreated back into his room - followed by Lainey.

"Will you two cut that out!" Luke ordered through a mouthful of pastry as the door slid closed. It opened again almost immediately and Lainey pulled a face, dropping into an easy chair and reaching for the cookie box.

At the end of the corridor, the lift chimed softly, the door sliding open. Pashra Navreen checked that the corridor was empty then started walking along it, flipping the little switch on the tracker. The light blinked green for a moment and data appeared on the screen. He walked along to one of the doors and hit the switch again, smiling as the numbers changed. So the dark-haired man and his wife were here.

He pushed the tracker back into his pocket and walked to the far end of the corridor, scrutinising everything and checking the stairwells he passed. Then he turned, heading back towards the lift. Now to find out who the man was.


	2. Chapter 2

"Jen?"

Jenniiya wrapped herself in a robe and reached for a towel as she answered, "I'll be out in a moment, Lyn. Help yourself to something... And pour one for me!"

Small and petite, hair piled high on her head, Lyn Areese smiled. She dropped the attache case onto the sofa and crossed the floor to the drinks cabinet on the far side of the room. "Whisky?"

"Always!" Jen called from the bathroom.

"Corellian?"

"Of course!" Jenniiya told her, walking into the room, towelling her hair dry.

"Ice or fizz?"

"Now you're getting silly!" Jenniiya accused.

"Sorry, Manwah," Lyn grinned, reaching into the cooler for the ice-cold bottle of Corellian Blue. "Have the fighters arrived?"

"Yes. But the Gribbs have decided to play games with us. They have delivered only five."

Lyn glanced at her then filled two glasses with blue spirit. "They're very brave," she accused, sarcastically. "After their little Hutt episode I'd have thought..."

"So would I!" Jenniiya interrupted. "Nabrood was not best pleased." She dropped into a chair, legs folded beneath her. "So I invited them to supper."

Lyn grinned, moving across and handing a glass of Corellian Blue to Jen, "Is my presence required?"

"Only in the background..." She paused and quirked an eyebrow, "To begin with..."

"So what do we do?" Lyn asked, sitting down opposite her.

Jenniiya sighed, "There's no way they'll be able to supply that other fighter quickly. And with the arrival of the new Governor we're tight on time... Which is possibly why the thieving little nerfbags are pushing their luck! So unless they can come up with an astoundingly sweet little deal..."

She smiled, coldly, finishing, "Well, we can't have them going around bragging that they pulled one over on the Diazez Cartel... That would be very bad for business."

"I'll advise housekeeping that we may need a clean-up crew."

"Hmmm," Jenniiya nodded. "So what news from Gahb?"

"Antilles and Downhigher spent the morning in the spice gardens and the afternoon in the markets. They bought cookies and the woman bought a pendant - nothing unusual, nothing untoward. Oh, and the socialites started primping and preening the moment they got a whiff that the Governor was on the transport. Things should be quiet for a little while."

"I wouldn't have expected otherwise. Oh, I've already invited him to dinner tomorrow night, a relaxed business meeting to find out exactly how much he knows. I'd like my personal assistant and my bodyguard to attend, should he accept."

Lyn smiled, dropping into her bumbling alter ego, "Well... um... Yes... of course..." She took a sip of the whisky. "So when do tonight's guests arrive?"

Jenniiya glanced across at the Silen timepiece on the wall. "Any time now, actually. Nabrood took Zren and Gage with him."

"That would have proven interesting!" Lyn laughed.

"It still will. They don't know what's about to hit them. Ask customs to have their freighter impounded. Unpaid dues or something similar." She leant forward, putting the glass on the table and rose to her feet, "I should dress. Apologise for me. Tell them I was detained on business and will be with them shortly."

.oo00oo.

"Dengar? Dengar!" Pashra hollered as the airlock locked shut behind him. "Dengar!"

"All the hells, man!" Dengar Crale yelled back, dropping out of an overhead compartment, landing easily on his feet. "I'm here! We're fuelled and ready to go whenever..."

"I may have found something."

Dengar grinned, following Navreen through to the living area, "Anything valuable?"

"I don't know," Pashra admitted, "I just recognised a face."

Dengar punched the air in delight. It had been a while since he and his partner had picked up anything. Not that they needed to, they had more than enough money stashed away to retire. But the senses always dulled a little when they were kept out of circulation. And besides, he enjoyed his work. "I'll start getting things ready."

Pashra nodded, switching on the computer and punching in the relevant details. For a moment the screen stayed blank, then faces started to appear, moving slowly across the screen. He saw the man from the market after only a few moments. "Stop!" he ordered. The faces halted. "Select three one five nine."

The picture moved to the side of the screen, Wedge Antilles' details appearing beside it.

_Rebel Alliance!_

Pashra grinned. "So, Wedge Antilles," he asked softly, printing a hard copy of the file, "is the woman really your wife?"

He punched in her details. Faces began to move across the screen again, but none of them were of the woman. Still, if she was involved with Antilles, then she was useful. And they would have to move quickly, there was no telling how long Antilles would remain in the capitol...

Now all they needed was a plan of that hotel.

"Dengar," he yelled, "we got ourselves a Lieutenant Commander in the Rebel Alliance! And a woman who claims to be his wife."

Dengar Crale's grin widened. He turned, striding back towards the living area, asking, "We strike tonight?" Pashra nodded. "So where are they?"

"Room five one eight in the Dirgelliaa Grand. It's in the Sarpan district. I managed to get a tracer on the woman's coat. I'm looking for a blue prints of the hotel now."

Dengar frowned slightly, "What about the Cartel. If they catch us and we haven't told them…"

Pashra didn't even bother to look at him. "They won't catch us…"

.oo00oo.

Nabrood followed Jenniiya as she swept into the room. The Gribb siblings gawked.

Jenniiya's long, flowing, black gown, cut to reveal as much flesh as was decent, set off the pale iridescence of her skin – carefully enhanced with shimmering make up on her eyes and a deep red colour on her lips. She smiled regally and lowered herself carefully into one of the huge easy chairs. A droid appeared almost instantly, offering a crystal flute of inexpensive wine. She waved it away and it retreated to the edge of the room.

Nabrood remained at the door, arms folded across his chest. Lyn shifted apparently-uncomfortably in her seat.

"I apologise for my tardiness," Jenniiya purred, her voice silken, "but an unexpected business matter..." She turned her smile on the two Corxians, "You understand...?"

The quills on the Gribbs' heads ruffled their emotion. "Of course," the more slender of the two rasped ingratiatingly.

"Now, gentlemen," Jenniiya continued, dispensing abruptly with the niceties, her voice still congenial but her eyes growing cold, "I believe we have business to discuss..."

"You... you must understand..." the younger Gribb began.

"You were paid in good faith," Jenniiya continued, as if he had said nothing. "I expected six fighters to arrive. Instead I am told that you were able to supply only five and that you require more money for a sixth..."

"Well… Well, since Yavin..." the little Corxian began.

"A deal was struck, hands were shaken" Jenniiya interrupted, "And now you renege?"

"It is like this..." the first Gribb tried.

"It is unacceptable!" Jenniiya countered.

A bell chimed. Only something extremely important would have been allowed to interrupt this meeting, so Yolan turned immediately, slipping quietly out of the door. Jenniiya ignored the chime, trusting Nabrood to deal with the situation, keeping her attention focussed on the Corxians. "We _will_ come to some arrangement, gentlemen."

Their quills ruffled again under her calm scrutiny.

Outside in the corridor, a young woman waited, her manner agitated. Trying to hide behind the woman, a white-haired, azure-skinned child cried quietly. Nabrood frowned. If Gahb had come to the house, then something was very wrong.

The woman turned at the sound of his footsteps then hurried towards him, the child in tow, hanging on to her tunic, "Master Nabrood, I must speak with Miss Lyn."

"Easy, Gahb," he reassured. "She is busy. What is wrong?"

"Someone was following the Rebels today."

Nabrood's disquiet grew, "Who?"

Gahb shook her head, "I do not know his name. Miktra thinks he is an offworlder."

Nabrood swore, an uneasy feeling tugging at the pit of his stomach. The situation with the damned Rebels was getting more complicated by the minute.

"Stay here," he told Gahb, turning back towards the door and sending a sarcastic prayer of thanks to whichever of the Gods were playing these tricks.

Quills lying flat against their heads, their skin blushing pink, Isshk and Yngll Gribb were unsuccessfully attempting to explain their position. Lyn glanced at Nabrood and he indicated with a tilt of his head that she was needed elsewhere. She rose, walking to the door.

The Gribbs noted the movement and began to grow uneasy, their skin colour fading to palest green. "Director..." Isshk, the smaller of the two siblings, tried again, voice rising to shrill rasp.

"Do you or do you not have the sixth fighter?" Jenniiya asked calmly. "I do understand that your suppliers may only have provided five, but you were paid for six. If you cannot provide that sixth fighter, I expect a refund."

Nabrood spoke softly to Lyn then remained in the room as she moved out into the corridor.

"Director," Yngll tried, "with the arrival of the new Imperial Governor…"

"That is not _my_ concern," Jenniiya interrupted. "_You_ contacted _my_ office three suns ago, advising that all six fighters would arrive today. And I fail to understand why the Governor's arrival should affect your delivery…"

She sat forward, continuing, "Unless you are attempting to sell illegal merchandise to the Cartel… Or do you have the impression that the Cartel wishes to hide the purchase of the fighters from the legally established authorities?""

The Corxians' quills ruffled: their skin changing hues. "Manwah…"

Jenniiya quirked an eyebrow, "Are they illegal?"

"No, Manwah," the Isshk simpered.

"Manwah…. We… You see…" Yngll began.

"T-65s _are_ the preferred fighters of the Rebel Alliance…" Isshk pointed out.

Jenniiya's eyes narrowed. Voice dripping ice, she countered, "And you therefore _assumed_ the Cartel was purchasing military hardware on behalf of terrorists?"

Lyn opened the door, slipping inside, speaking softly to Nabrood before leaving again.

The Corxians' quills stood on end, turning a deep green. "The Cartel's reputation…" Yngll tried.

Jenniiya's eyes narrowed. "And which clan Chieftain informed you that the Cartel was now in the business of rebellion and anarchy?"

"Manwah," Nabrood interrupted. He bowed deeply as she turned to look at him. "Your pardon, Manwah, but a matter of importance has arisen."

Knowing that Yolan would only interrupt the meeting only if it was something of critical importance, Jenniiya rose gracefully to her feet. Not that she minded the interruption. It would give the Gribbs brothers time to rethink their attempt to extort the Cartel.

"My apologies, gentlemen," she told the Corxians, coldly. "Please, help yourself to refreshments. I will return shortly to continue this discussion..."

The Corxians shot to their feet, bowing repeatedly as she walked towards the door, Nabrood at her side.

A droid waited in the corridor, "Miss Lyn has taken your guests to your study, Manwah."

Jenniiya swept past it. "What's wrong?" she asked Nabrood.

"Gahb is here. An offworlder was following the Rebels today."

"Hells!" Jen cursed. "Anyone we should worry about?"

"Gahb did not know him."

Jenniiya considered the situation as they walked along the corridor towards her study. It could have been anyone, but it was most probably a bounty hunter or an Imperial agent. And if it was, had they simply grasped an opportunity that had presented itself, or had the Gribbs told someone about their theories, someone who had taken advantage of it?

Finally she ordered, "We'll move the Rebels. We can't afford to take chances. The Gribbs could have complicated the situation if they have shared their assumption, however correct, that we are supplying hardware to the Rebellion. Have arrangements made. Bring the Rebels here."

Nabrood nodded in acknowledgement, turning on his heel and heading back down the corridor. The study door opened and Jenniiya stepped through. Gahb sat on the small sofa, holding a young child who cowered into her as Jenniiya appeared. Lyn was sitting opposite them.

"A man was following Antilles and Downhigher at the market this afternoon," Lyn explained, rising to her feet.

"Miktra saw him," Gahb added. "In fact she helped him."

The child on Gahb's lap began to cry harder. Jen considered the situation for a moment then walked across and sat down in the seat Lyn had just vacated. "Miktra," she commanded, gently, "Come here."

The child hesitated for a moment but Gahb lifted her, making her stand up. Slowly, looking back at Gahb, the little girl walked across to Jenniiya. She stood in front of the Manwah, looking at her feet, wailing softly.

"Bring me some tissues," Jen told Lyn softly. Then she turned back to the child. "Miktra, listen to me very carefully. I am not angry with you. No one in this room is angry with you. If you have done something wrong then you can redeem yourself by telling us exactly what happened… but until you tell us, we won't know. And it's very important that you tell us everything that happened."

Lyn handed her the tissues and she held them out to the child who was still crying. Miktra accepted them but made no move to wipe her face. Jenniiya took her hand, "Miktra, please, we need to know what happened. It's very important. This man could cause us a lot of trouble."

The little girl looked up at her, beginning to hiccup. Jenniiya smiled, taking the tissues back. Gently, she began to wipe Miktra's eyes. She caressed the little girl's hair, "You have no need to be afraid, little one. Would you like some candy?"

Miktra shook her head, snuffling for breath.

"Would you like some fizz?"

The little girl nodded slowly, looking at Jenniiya with large, mournful eyes. Lyn moved to order the drink. Miktra looked from Lyn then back to Jenniiya, blowing her nose before looking back down at the floor, her bottom lip still trembling.

"When did you see the man?" Jenniiya asked gently.

"In the market," Miktra hiccupped. "He... He came and asked me if... if I would like to earn some money. I... I asked him for what, and he told me that all I had to do was put a little patch on a lady's coat."

"And you did?" Jenniiya surmised.

Miktra nodded slowly, "I put it on her arm. And then he gave me a flute."

"Had you seen this man before?" Jenniiya pushed.

"No," Miktra told her. "But he had a blaster and he smelled funny."

"Good girl," Jenniiya told her with a smile. "You're so clever, remembering lots of information. You must have a very good memory. Now," she went on, "Was it a little metal patch? Or was it a cloth patch?"

Miktra thought for a long moment, biting her lip. Jenniiya let the child take her time. She had gained the child's trust. To rush her now would break that trust and, in her panic, she might give them the wrong details.

"Metal covered with cloth I think..." she said finally.

A tracking device: Jenniiya would lay money on it. And if it was, they had less time than she had initially thought. They had to get the Rebel pilots out of the hotel immediately.

A droid arrived with the fizz. "Miktra, would you recognise this man again if you saw him?"

The little girl nodded, "I think so."

Jen smiled, "You have done very well, Miktra. Now I want you to answer all the questions that Miss Lyn is going to ask you. If you don't know the answer, just tell her you don't know. It's okay if you don't know. All right?"

"Yes."

Jenniiya rose, nodding to Gahb before turning and walking towards the door, already beginning to plan damage control. Lyn dropped into step beside her. "Find out everything you can from the little one," Jenniiya ordered softly. "See if you can construct an image of him."

"I will do what I can." The door opened at their approach. "And the Gribbs?" Lyn asked.

"They have no intention of providing the last fighter…" Jenniiya considered. Then she ordered, "They don't leave here. Have them searched and thrown in the cells to reconsider crossing the Cartel. And have their ship removed from the port. I'll be with Yolan if you need me."

.oo00oo.

In the end the pilots had decided to go for both options. Wedge and Alissha ordered room service while the others ordered out. They raided the bars in their respective rooms then, when the food arrived, congregated in Wedge and Alissha's room.

Now, fed, watered and warm with alcohol, they lounged in the room, watching the holocasts and fighting sleep – their internal clocks not yet adjusted to the local time.

Luke yawned again and announced, "I am going to bed!"

Alissha glanced at the chronometer, stifling another yawn, "But it's early yet, Boss!"

"Nothing to do with going to bed!" Wedge countered. "He wants to watch that disgusting holovid on the adult channel! Wouldn't catch me doing that!"

"But you're so pure it's sickening!" Alissha quipped.

"Can I suggest!" Luke interrupted quickly before it degenerated into another slanging session. "Can I suggest that as we're _all_ going to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, we all retire early!"

"Again?" Lainey moaned.

Luke fixed her with what he hoped was a senior officer stare, "Do you want to risk the possibility of having to fly all the way to the rendezvous tomorrow having had only three hours sleep?"

"Awe, Boss…"

"Awe, Boss, nothing!" He grinned at her, "Come on, _Little Sister_, get moving!"

She pushed herself to her feet, accusing, "You are enjoying this whole _Big Brother_ thing far too much, Commander!"

"Count yourself lucky," Wedge laughed. "I'm _married_ to Alissha!"

Ali grinned at him, "Does that mean I can claim conjugal rights, Lieutenant Commander?"

Wedge gave Luke a level stare as the others guffawed. "Are you sure I can't be Lainey's brother? Please?" He dropped to his knees on the floor at Luke's feet, pretending to sob, "Please? Take me away from all of this? Please? I can't stand it!"

Alissha threw a pillow at the back of his head. Lainey laid a hand on Luke's arm, telling him, "I'll hold Wedge off while you escape!"

"Good idea," he agreed.

Then they both bolted for the door, stopping as they reached it. Alissha swung her legs onto the floor, standing up and walking towards them, patting Wedge on the head as she passed. Shaking her head she accused, "It's all right for you two! You get to escape this madness! Why couldn't we get the non-adjoining room?"

"Privilege of rank…?" Luke suggested.

The three other men started coughing and guffawing. Alissha turned, admonishing, "Shhh!"

They all fell silent. She pressed the door release then cautiously stepped out of the room, glancing along the corridor. It was empty. She grinned and nodded to Luke and Lainey who waved a silent goodnight to the others then stepped into the corridor and walked the few steps along to their room. Alissha moved back inside, locking the door behind her.

"Well, I suppose we ought to hit the sack…" Brin yawned. "Who's going to take first watch?"

"Me," Wedge told him. "Then Ali. Then we'll wake one of you."

"I'll do third shift," Hobbie offered.

"Then, my friends," Brin told them, opening the connecting door theatrically and giving a sweeping bow, "I bid you good night!"


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

The desk clerk looked up as the front doors of the hotel slid apart and a tall, powerfully built gentleman walked into the foyer followed by another man in a dark suit. A third man in a black suit waited by the speeder parked outside. _Businessman_, Stessa deduced, _bodyguard and chauffeur_.

She smiled graciously at the tall man as he reached the front desk. "Good evening, Sir."

Nabrood had disguised his scar and changed the colour of his eyes. He gave her his most charming smile. "Good evening. My business associate and her husband are staying in room…" He trailed off, turning to Gage as if it was below him to remember such things when he had underlings who worked for him.

"Four two three, Sir," Gage supplied, politely.

Nabrood turned back, his smile widening, "Room four-two-three. Could you let them know that I am here for our meeting?"

"Certainly, Sir…" Stess gushed, reaching for the com unit, "And your name?"

"Organa," Nabrood told her, giving her the code word.

Five floors above them, Pashra Navreen held the small lock-picking device against the door, grinning as the indication changed from white to blue, showing that the door was now unlocked. He stepped back as the door began to slide open, taking the offered shockstick from Dengar.

It was a brutal weapon, but it would ensure instant results with very little noise and without damaging their quarry… too much.

The com unit began to chime softly covering the sound of the door as it whispered open. Wedge swung his legs off the bed, reaching out to answer the call.

Pashra and Dengar raced into the room. Wedge heard the movement. Startled, he turned towards it, surging to his feet as Pashra lunged for him. Wedge tried to block the blow but the charge stick slid under his outstretched arm, thumping into his chest.

Pain exploded, ripping along Wedge's nerves, paralysing him, driving the breath from his lungs in a scream that froze in his throat. Everything suddenly began to move in slow motion. He felt himself falling backwards, saw Alissha beginning to move. The room tilted and he landed half on the bed, unable to stop himself sliding onto the floor. His blood pounded in his ears, darkness pressing in from the edge of his consciousness as the man took a step towards him.

Then the breath was rushing back into his lungs, the darkness evaporating. The little voice of self-preservation screamed at Wedge, telling him that he had to move, that if he didn't he was dead. He heaved himself onto his side, terror pumping adrenaline through sluggish muscles.

Alissha saw the masked face above her. She started to scream, to kick out but the assailant evaded her feet, punching her in the face. Light exploded in her head and she slumped back, only semi-aware as he reached for her.

Pashra swore as Antilles refused to stay down. The Rebel had rolled onto his front, was trying to push himself up. Pashra thumbed the intensity up to the next setting, spinning the stick in his grip. Then he brought it down hard between Antilles' shoulder blades. The Rebel's body jerked off the floor once as the weapon discharged…

Then he went still.

Pashra glanced across at his partner. Dengar was hoisting the female over his shoulder. Pashra grinned, tossing the shockstick onto the bed. He reached down, flipping Antilles over before hauling him off the floor and onto the bed. Pulling the Rebel up into a sitting position he bent over, dropping Antilles over his shoulder. Straightening, he scooped up the shockstick, settled the Rebel's weight more evenly across his shoulders and followed Dengar to the door.

In the foyer, Nabrood's concern grew as the seconds ticked passed and the desk clerk's call remained unanswered. Realising that they might already be too late, he threw a glance at Gage then told the woman, "We'll go up. Perhaps they have the com unit switched off."

He turned and made for the elevator, Gage following.

Luke slammed awake, knowing immediately that something was wrong. He threw back the bedclothes, pausing to shake the other pilot, "Lainey, get up! Something's not right!"

She stirred, asking sleepily, "Hmm…?"

"Something's wrong! Get up!"

Instantly awake she rolled out of bed. Luke had already turned. Walking quickly towards the door, he pressed the catch. The door opened, spilling light into the dimness of the hotel room. A shadow walked passed. Without thinking Luke stepped into the corridor looking after it.

Pashra swore but continued walking as a blond man stepped out of the next room, directly in front of him. The man turned, stepping away from him in surprise and Pashra hesitated, recognising the man's face. He was on the Imperial wanted list…. but there was no time. At the far end of the corridor, the lift chimed.

Instinctively Pashra swung the shockstick up, stabbing at the blond man, pushing him back into the room. Pain exploded and Luke convulsed, falling backwards into the wall, crumpling into a heap, half in the corridor, half in the room. The door started to close, then sensed something in its way and slowly rolled open again.

Lainey screamed, running towards Luke as he collapsed, panic clawing at her. "Boss!" She dropped to her knees beside him, "Boss!"

Nabrood heard the scream as the lift door rolled open. He saw the bulky shape disappearing through the stairwell door at the far end of the corridor and took off, racing towards it, Gage at his heels. Towards the end of the corridor one of the Rebel pilots was lying on the floor in a room doorway, another pilot at his side. Nabrood slid to a stop as he saw them. "Go!" he commanded and Gage ran passed him, following the assailants.

"Zren! Back exit!" Nabrood ordered through the mike. "Gage is after them!"

He turned, checking the room number then looked down at the young woman, "I am Organa, the man you're here to meet…" He trailed off, seeing that she wasn't listening, her attention on the blond pilot lying on the floor. She had pulled him away from the wall, lying him flat on the floor.

"Luke! Luke, can you hear me?"

Nabrood instantly dropped to his knees beside her.

Unable to find a pulse at Luke's wrist, Lainey put her ear against the Commander's chest… but there was no sound. She pulled away as if burnt, swearing, terror clutching at her. Instinct took over. She tilted Luke's head back, pinching his nose and leaning down to breath deeply into his mouth.

Nabrood realised what the woman was doing… and what it meant. Cursing whoever had done this, he placed his hands on Luke's chest, waiting until she pulled away then he began compression.

Lainey had no idea who the newcomer was, but he was helping her, helping Luke. She glanced at him, then turned her attention back to the Commander. She bent down, holding his nose, breathing deeply into his mouth. The stranger began compression again as she pulled away.

"Luke! Come on!" she ordered. She leant forward once more, reaching out to hold his nose, blowing air into his lungs before pulling back, counting the compressions. "Skywalker, damn it, don't you dare die on me!" But vital seconds were dragging by. She took another deep breath, leaning forward…

And he made a small sound as he took a long quivering breath. Nabrood sat back. Not daring to believe what she was seeing, Lainey caressed his face with her hand, "Luke? Luke?"

He took another breath, then a third.

Luke floated on pain that expanded from his chest, engulfing him. Far away he heard someone calling his name, but it was too much effort to speak, too much effort to try to open his eyes… Darkness was drawing at him, pulling him back, promising release from the pain…

"Commander!" the woman tried again. "Commander, can you hear me?"

A dark stain was slowly beginning to spread out across the injured man's light shirt from where Nabrood's hands had been. Yolan pulled his knife from the ankle sheath and sliced through the flimsy material. Blood ran from two small burn marks directly over his heart, the burns standing out against skin slowly turning an ugly, dark, purplish-blue.

Nabrood recognised the wound - a shockstick! Which explained why the man's heart had stopped. The stick must have been on too high a setting… _Incompetent fools!_

Panic stabbed at Lainey as she saw the blood. She glanced at Nabrood then tried again, holding Luke's head, caressing his face, "Commander! Luke! Can you hear me!"

Luke heard someone calling his name. A small voice at the back of his mind began to insist that he should answer, that he should recognise the voice. But it was so far away…

He fought his way up through the pain, straining to hear it. The darkness followed him, no longer inviting: now threatening and sinister. He pushed it away, struggling to stay ahead of it… but it sapped at his strength, the pain expanding through him…

Luke…"Ben…?" Luke latched on to the voice, fighting his way towards it. " Ben…"

"Luke? Luke, can you hear me?" Lainey heard him murmur something, but she couldn't make out what he said. His eyes fluttered open then closed again. "Luke? Damn it, stay with me!"

Nabrood pushed himself to his feet, walking into the shower room and pulling the towels from the rail. A voice crackled in his earpiece, "Boss?"

"Go..."

"They're loading two people into a speeder," Zren told him. "Do we take them or follow them?"

Nabrood weighed the options, dropping back onto his knees beside the woman. Concern for the wellbeing of whoever had been taken, vied with worry that the assailants would kill them if Gage and Zren attacked now. "Follow them!" he ordered, rolling one of the towels and gently placing it over Luke's wound.

"Copied."

"Hold this," he told the woman. She put her hand on top of the towel, holding it in place. "Gage," he ordered over his radio, "arrange some transport. One wounded. We will need to carry him..."

"On it now!" Gage assured him.

"We should get him inside," Nabrood suggested, looking at the woman, knowing that someone might have heard the fuss.

She looked back at him for a moment, suddenly very aware that she had no idea who this man was or what was going on. Luke murmured something again and she glanced back down at him then nodded, "Okay."

They took hold of Luke's arms. He moaned softly as they helped him sit up, the towel dropping onto the floor. Lainey lifted it, moving out of the way as Nabrood stood up and stepped round her, putting his arms around Luke and hauling him to his feet.

The Rebel cried out again but took his own weight for a moment before collapsing against the big Gehndaarian. Nabrood steadied him. Then he swept the blond man into his arms and carried him effortlessly into the room, putting him down carefully onto the bed.

Nabrood's concern deepened. Luke was very pale, his skin cool to the touch and moist, his breathing shallow and irregular. The man needed to see a physician quickly.

He moved back as Lainey stepped passed him, putting a clean towel over Luke's wound. Nabrood pulled a small communicator from his jacket pocket, "Manwah?"

For a few seconds there was nothing, then her voice answered, "Go."

"We were too late. One down, serious. Two missing, being tracked. We'll need a physician."

"Copied," her voice confirmed, "I'll arrange it."

Nabrood pushed the com unit back into his pocket and looked at the female Rebel pilot, "I am Yolan Nabrood, the contact you are here to meet."

Lainey turned, looking up at him, keeping up the pretence of a brother and sister on vacation, "I haven't a clue what you're talking about… And my brother…"

"Forgive me," Nabrood began, giving her the recognition code, "I should have introduced myself as Organa. I should also tell you that in Gehndaaria the words "_so'shanti ye man ll'el__"_ mean "Power to those who empower themselves!"

She considered him for a moment then nodded confirmation of identification and the code phrase. "Lainey," she offered, still reluctant to give out too much information.

Nabrood glanced at Skywalker. His eyes were half-open and he was watching them. Nabrood looked back at Lainey, "Who was in the next room?"

"Wedge," she told him. "And Alissha…"

He nodded acknowledgement, telling her, "Get Aksha and Klivian. We must leave here now."

She stood up, looking at him in confusion, "What about Wedge and…"

"There is nothing we can do for your other friends at this moment," he interrupted. "My men are following them. Be satisfied with that."

She frowned, "But…" She stopped, then repeated, "Following them…?"

Nabrood suddenly realised that she had no idea what had just taken place. He sighed. "Antilles and Downhigher have been snatched, probably by bounty hunters. Now, do as I ask."

She opened her mouth to argue again but he interrupted, "We do not have time for this, Lainey. Your Commander needs urgent medical attention. Please, do as I ask."

She nodded and moved passed him towards the door. Nabrood knelt down beside Luke, giving him a reassuring smile, seeing the agony reflected in the Rebel's eyes. "You are with friends, Commander," he assured him. "I am the contact you are here to meet."

Skywalker opened his mouth, but Nabrood told him, "Don't try to talk, Commander. Rest. Save your strength. You will need it when we move you. You will not be safe here for much longer."

Luke swallowed, shaking his head, "Wedge…"

"Has been abducted," Nabrood admitted. "As has Downhigher. But my men are following them. We will get them back, you have my word."

Luke nodded, "Thank you." Then he frowned, asking, "X-wings…"

Nabrood smiled, shaking his head at the Commander's tenacity. _Down perhaps, but not out._ "Are here and ready to go," he told him. "Now rest until we can get you to a physician!"

The Rebel nodded and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Alissha's face thumped pain through her head. Her shoulders ached and she slowly realised that she had no feeling in her hands. Some sort of tape was covering her mouth. Cold dread stole through her. She moaned softly, dragging her eyes open. One eyelid remained stubbornly shut and that was where the pain was worst. Not that it mattered, she couldn't see anything, everything was dark.

Whatever she was lying on was moving, though. She could feel the slight undulation as it moved. She tried to remember what had happened, why she was tied up… but the memory evaded her.

She had been in the hotel room with Wedge… And she had fallen asleep…. And…

The floor jolted and the quiet vibration died away. She heard cloth rustle above her and realised that she had been under a tarpaulin of some kind. It was pulled back and the sudden light blinded her for a moment. Then someone was dragging her up. Arms encircled her chest, lifting her. She started to fight, but the grip was too strong and the gag muffled her screams.

Her surroundings swam into focus. Terror stabbed at her as she realised she was being taken inside a ship. She fought harder, twisting and kicking in the grasp.

"Ah!" Dengar cursed, holding her tighter as her bare feet caught ineffectually against his boots. "Stop it, bitch!"

Behind him, Pashra laughed, but Dengar was having too much trouble trying to keep a hold of the twisting, bucking maskrat in his grasp to do anything more than growl at his partner in disgust. He carried the woman up the ramp, almost losing his hold of her as they reached the top. He stopped, crushing her against his chest, hissing into her ear. "You're worth as much to me dead as alive, bitch! Keep this up and I'll slide a knife between your ribs!"

Then he dropped her onto the deck. Grabbing her arm he dragged her to her feet, hauling her along the corridor.

Terrified, Alissha stumbled along beside him, unable to fight against the crushing grip on her arm. He jerked her to a stop, passing his hand in front of a wall unit. Part of the wall hissed forward, the concealed door sliding open. Without looking at her he shoved her into the small room. She almost lost her footing, but caught her balance just as she hit the far wall. She turned.

He had followed her into the tiny room and walked towards her, grinning at her. He reached out, spinning her to face the wall and cut through the ties around her wrists. Then he turned her back, ripping the tape off of her mouth.

She took a breath to scream. Dengar backhanded her across the face, knocking her into the wall. She tumbled to the floor.

Another man walked into the room, carrying someone over his shoulder.

He let Wedge slide onto the deck. Antilles landed with a thud, his head thumping onto the metal. The men turned, walking out of the room, the door slicing shut behind them.

.oo00oo.

Luke floated, caught in the layer between awareness and unconsciousness, content to stay wrapped in the warm darkness. He knew he was dreaming, but he was safe here. The little subconscious voice whispered that to him, telling him that something was very wrong and that he was better off here, safe from reality. The darkness wrapped itself more tightly around him, holding him close, promising him release from the small, anxious flutter of light above him that threatened to draw him back into a world of agony.

Deep down he acknowledged that he was dying…

_**Luke…**_ The voice was quiet, gentle, but insistent.

Ben…?

_**Luke. You must leave here. Now! Before it is too late.**_

Confused Luke searched the darkness…

_But…_

Do not question me, Luke. There isn't much time… You must leave!Ben…

The old Jedi's voice pushed at him, shoving him upward towards consciousness. _**Wake up, Luke! Leave! Now!**_

Luke struggled against it, not wanting to go, suddenly and incomprehensibly scared of being in the real world, terrified of…

_**Afraid of what? Afraid of pain. Life is pain, Luke! Fear is more dangerous. Fear is the Dark Side... **_

Then, more gently,_** Do you trust me?**_

Yes…Then do not be afraid. Do as I ask. Leave here now.

Another voice called Luke's name. He hesitated for a moment. But Ben's voice echoed again in his mind. _**I will always be with you, Luke. And the Force will never leave you. Remember that…**_

The voice was calling his name again, more insistently. He turned towards it, struggling upward, the darkness falling away into pain… that wasn't quite as bad as he remembered. Slowly he dragged his eyes open.

A man's face swam into focus. The man smiled at him, "Luke? Luke, can you hear me?"

Luke nodded, murmuring, "Yes…"

"Very good, Luke, very good. Now, can you tell me what happened?"

Luke closed his eyes, fighting the lethargy. The memories remained elusive. He opened his eyes again. Behind the smiling man with the kind eyes stood another man he recognised, a scar running down his cheek towards him mouth…

The memories swept in, jumbled and incoherent. He let his eyes slide closed, concentrating, trying to piece the images together… but the images were confusing, contradictory. Finally he answered, "We… I was attacked…"

"Very good, Luke. Now I want you to rest."

Luke nodded, too tired to open his eyes again. Far away he heard the man saying, "I've administered a parasympatholytic and given him something to ease the pain, but I don't want to give him any more just yet…"

Luke frowned. _Para what…?_

"How badly injured is he?" still another voice asked - a woman's, one that he didn't recognise. Panic settled in the pit of his stomach. Too much had happened, there was too much he didn't understand, too much he had no control over any longer…

He dragged his eyes open again as the man answered, "His heart has been damaged by the weapon discharge. The syncope, hypotension and dyspnea all point towards bradycardia."

Jenniiya gave the doctor a long, level look.

He smiled, apologetically, "His blood pressure is very low, his heartbeat slower than I would like and he is having difficulty breathing… The drugs I have administered should bring his heart rate up, but he may need further doses."

He glanced at the patient. "He must be watched continuously until I return with additional equipment. His present state could deteriorate rapidly."

"Doctor…?"

The physician turned, stepping in towards Luke, seeing the alarm in the young man's eyes as he asked, "Will… will I…"

"Recover?" the doctor supplied. He frowned, his tone fatherly as he continued, "I won't lie to you, young man. You are seriously injured, and I want to do further tests before I give you any answers. In all probability I can operate and repair the damage to your heart. But I won't make that decision until I have all the information."

Luke swallowed, trying to take it all in. "I… I understand."

The Doctor nodded, smiling again, "Good. Now," he continued, turning to Jenniiya, "I will need certain equipment to be arranged."

Jenniiya nodded, "Of course." She gestured to her assistant, "Lyn, see to the Doctor's needs."

Nabrood caught hold of a chair, pulling it across to sit beside the Rebel Commander as the physician began to give Lyn a list of the medical equipment he required.

"Where… Where are the others?" Luke asked.

"Elsewhere until you had been seen by the physician," Nabrood told him. "I will bring them to you shortly. We think it best for you all to remain here tonight. The others will be taken to the fighters tomorrow night."

He smiled, "You, it seems, must remain our guest a little longer… I can have cots made up in here for tonight. Or they may have their own rooms…"

"They'll… They'll worry less if they're here…"

"Very well. I'll have that arranged."

Nabrood paused then continued, "I am truly sorry that this has happened. We acted as soon as we were warned… but obviously arrived too late."

"Please…" Luke questioned. "I have no idea what happened…"

Nabrood made a small sound of disgust. "The men who abducted Antilles and Downhigher are bounty hunters…"

"Abducted…"

Before Nabrood could explain further, the woman interrupted, "They should have had the manners to let us know they were operating here!" Her voice dripped ice. "Perhaps, then, this situation could have been avoided."

She sighed, walking across to stand by Luke's bedside, her voice calm as she assured him, "Do not worry, Commander. I have made arrangements and the ship will not be allowed to leave port with your colleagues."

"It is too dangerous to get Antilles and Downhigher out tonight," Nabrood put in. "But we will do what we can."

"You understand," Jenniiya clarified, keeping her voice low – what the doctor didn't hear wouldn't harm him - "with the arrival of the new Governor we must tread carefully…" She paused then asked, "Do you wish us to contact your people, or would you rather your companions delivered the message."

Luke shook his head, telling her, "We've caused enough trouble. Don't risk any more by…"

"You are under my roof!" Jenniiya interrupted, her tone gentle but brooking no argument. "I will make the decision as to how much is being risked! Now, do you wish us to inform your people?"

Too tired to argue, terrified for Wedge and Alissha's safety, Luke simply nodded, desperately glad that someone else was taking control. Yet, at the same time, he couldn't stop the small wash of guilt at shirking his responsibilities as their commanding officer.

.oo00oo.

Hobbie paced. "The physician must have seen him by now!"

"Walking a hole in the carpet isn't going to help," Brin berated.

Hobbie turned on him, "Yeah? Just because you have ice water in your veins…"

"Will you two cut it out!" Lainey shouted, surging to her feet. "As if things weren't bad enough…" She broke off, sitting back down before her legs gave way as she began to shake uncontrollably.

Brin saw the colour drain from her face and rushed across to her, kneeling down in front of her, "Lainey? You okay?"

"Okay?" she yelled at him. "Okay? No I'm not bloody okay! Wedge is gone! Ali is gone! And Luke might be…" Her voice broke into a sob, "…dead!"

Brin took his hands in hers as Hobbie put his arm round her shoulder. She pulled away from them both. "Don't touch me!"

"Is everything all right?" Lyn asked softly from the door.

Brin turned, startled, pushing himself to his feet as Hobbie stood up. "No," Brin told her, "Everything is not all right! Our friends are injured, and missing… We've been left here without explanation…"

"The physician has examined Commander Skywalker," she said, calmly cutting through his tirade.

Hobbie stepped towards her, "How is he?"

"Seriously injured," she admitted. "He will need to be watched closely over the next few hours."

"Can we see him?" Lainey asked.

"Of course," Lyn smiled. "Follow me." She turned, walking back out of the door, telling them, "We're having cots made up for you in his room."

The three pilots hurried after her, following her down the corridor. "When will he be well enough to leave?" Hobbie asked.

"I'm not sure," the woman admitted. "But you will be leaving tomorrow. The fighters are here."

"Tomorrow…?"

"But we can't leave…"

"What about Wedge and Alissha?"

Lyn stopped, turning to them, holding up her hand to silence them, "I do not have answers for you. You must take up these arguments with the Manwah." Turning back, she pressed a door catch and it slid back. She ushered them through with a sweep of her hand.

Hobbie glanced at Lainy and Brin then walked into the room. _Damn it! There was no way that he was going to leave without…_

The sight of Luke lying pale and motionless on the bed at the far side of the room stopped short his train of thought. The Commander looked so weak, so frail… Nabrood was with him. And another woman that Hobbie didn't recognise.

Luke turned his head, giving them what he hoped was a reassuring smile as they walked towards him. "Glad you could make it!" he quipped. Then he introduced, "Jenniiya, this is Hobbie, Brin and Lainey."

"Welcome to my home," she told them.

Hobbie eyed her with undisguised suspicion, "Boss, they say that we've to leave tomorrow."

"Yes."

Brin's jaw dropped, "But, Boss…"

"We can't leave!" Hobbie countered.

"You can!" Luke told them. "And you will!"

"But…"

"That's an order!"

Hobbie glared at him, "And what about you? What about Wedge and Alissha?"

"Commander Skywalker cannot be moved," Jenniiya attempted.

Tension and worry bubbled to the surface and Hobbie acted without thinking. "Why?" he demanded, turning on her.

Jenniiya looked at him in surprise.

Nabrood advanced on the Rebel pilot, drawing himself to his full height, not accustomed to having people question his Manwah's authority. "Because if you move him he will die!" he told Hobbie bluntly. "He was hit with a shockstick that discharged straight into his heart!"

The Rebel pilot stepped in to meet him, drawing himself up, facing Nabrood down. Brin moved to stand at Hobbie's back.

Luke knew that if he didn't do something, Hobbie's temper was liable to snap. They were all scared, all confused… He tried to take control of the situation.

"Hobbie!" he began in warning…. but pain shot through his chest from the injured skin tissue. Then the room suddenly flared into momentary blackness and he collapsed back against the pillows, fighting for breath.

"Luke?" Lainey yelped, rushing to him. Brin and Hobbie span round.

"Fools!" Nabrood hissed.

Jenniiya moved, pushing past the men to stand between the Rebel pilots and their commanding officer. "Out!" she ordered, her voice low and dangerous. "You too Nabrood! Get out!"

The physician rushed past them, moving to the other side of Luke's bed, checking the readout on the mediscanner that was snapped around the young man's wrist, frowning at the information displayed.

The Rebel was struggling to breathe, his face suddenly wet with perspiration, his skin cold. "Luke?" the Doctor called, "Luke can you hear me? Luke?"

The young man gasped something that he couldn't make out. Then his eyes rolled slowly back in his head as he lost consciousness.

"Luke?" Lainey called, taking Skywalker's hand, "Luke?" _Fates, this couldn't be happening… Not again…_

The Doctor turned, reaching for his case, pulling out a small vial, snapping it open and pressing it into a niche in the mediscanner. He glanced across at Jenniiya, "I need that equipment here now."

.oo00oo.

Navreen swore loudly. Dengar opened an eye, looking at him, "What?"

"That other man, the blond who walked out in front of me in the hotel…"

"Yeah…"

"He **was** another Rebel. Right up there near the top of the damned Imperial wanted list!"

Dengar frowned, swinging his legs off the table, sitting up, "Who?"

"Luke," Pashra informed him, stressing every word, "fragging Skywalker."

Dengar whistled softly, knowing that the Empire was paying big money for Rebels like Skywalker. He ran through the pros and cons of going back to the hotel after the Commander, finally discarding the idea.

They hadn't sought permission to operate from the Cartel that ran the city. People who crossed the Diazez Cartel usually ended up dead. Antilles had been too good a quarry to ignore, but discovering that Skywalker was here, changed things. The risk of news of their operation getting back to the Cartel had just increased dramatically. If the Diazez Cartel found out that bounty hunters had been operating without licence in their city, they would come after them.

It was no longer worth the risk of staying until the morning to make their departure looked less suspicious. He pushed himself to his feet, "Forget Skywalker," he told Pashra, "Let's get out of here."

.oo00oo.

The discomfort had slowly intensified towards a nagging ache, drawing Wedge towards awareness. For a long time he simply drifted. He was lying on his side. Someone was caressing his hair, talking softly to him.

Memories jostled in his head. He watched them playing behind his eyelids like a badly edited holovid as the pain grew worse. His ribs and shoulders already ached, but it slowly began to hurt to breathe, fire stabbing its way down his spine into his legs and hips. He lay still, gathering the courage to move into a more comfortable position, afraid of the pain it might cause.

Finally, pins and needles rapping at his feet, he moaned softly and opened his eyes. "Shh," Alissha comforted, stroking his cheek. "It's okay."

"Ali…?" For a brief moment he thought that they were still in the hotel room, that he must have fallen. His head was pillowed on her lap… but he was lying on his side on a bare, metal floor.

He looked round the tiny room, confused by his surroundings. "Where…?" he rasped, "Where are we?"

"In a ship of some kind…" she told him. "At the port, I think. But we haven't moved, we're still on the ground."

He opened his mouth to ask her why they were here, how they had got here, but agony ripped down his spine, suddenly more intense than anything he had endured before. He cried out, instinctively trying to turn onto his back, to ease the pain. Alissha slipped out from beneath him, cradling his head and helping him over onto his back, but the movement only caused the agony to expand through him, robbing him of breath for a moment, almost blacking him out.

Alissha saw the colour drain from his face as his body went rigid, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. Unable to do anything more than let him take her hands, she knelt beside him, his nails digging into her skin as he fought to breathe.

Panic swept through her, but she forced herself to remain calm. She would be no use to him if she lost her head now. _What the hells had they done to him?_

For an eternity, Wedge endured the pain. Then, finally, it receded to a bearable level. It left in its wake, though, the terrified knowledge that something had to be terribly wrong.

He opened his eyes, looking up at her. One side of her face was bruised, her eye swollen almost shut, her bottom lip split and swollen. "Ali…?"

She squeezed his hands, "I'm here…"

"They hit you…?"

She tried to smile, "I'll be fine."

He closed his eyes, moaning as another wave of pain washed over him. She held his hands, talking to him gently until his breathing calmed. His eyes drifted open. "Ali…"

"Shh, don't talk."

"Ali… I can't… I can't feel my legs…"

Panic pushed at her again, but she shoved it down, "Okay, just lie still. Don't try to move. Where do you hurt?"

"Everywhere… my back… my ribs…"

"All right. I'm going to undo your tunic and take a look at your ribs. Okay?"

He nodded and she slowly undid the fastenings, spreading the tunic to check for any injuries. She didn't have to look far. Two small burn marks stood out, raw and red against the bruised and blackened skin on his chest. She frowned, not recognising the wound. "Wedge, did you see what they hit you with?"

"No… Yes… Um…" He closed his eyes, trying to think through the fog, "Looked like a … a stick."

"Okay… You have a blast wound of some sort. I don't recognise it…"

"Hit me in the back…" The word broke off into a strangled cry.

"Wedge, just lie still," she told him. "I'm going to try to get their attention. You need something for the pain." She pushed herself to her feet, turning to the door, starting to bang on it. "Hey! You out there! We need some help in here! Hey! Out there! We need help!"

.oo00oo.

Hobbie sat staring into the fire that crackled over the soft beep of Luke's heart monitor. Lainey and Brin had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep and Nabrood had dimmed the lights, letting the firelight flicker shadows across the walls. There was something warm and comforting about a fire lighting a dark room, Hobbie finally concluded. He turned, looking across at Nabrood. "I'm sorry."

Yolan lifted his head, "What?"

"For earlier, when I lost my cool. I'm sorry."

Yolan smiled at him, "I was as much at fault. And it was understandable."

Hobbie nodded, saying nothing more, then turned to stare back into the fire again.

The door slid open. Nabrood looked across, pushing himself to his feet and padding quietly over the carpet as Lyn beckoned to him.

"We've got problems," she told him softly as the door slid shut. "The bounty hunters are trying to leave. Customs have delayed them as long as they can, but there's not much time. Manwah doesn't want to risk a scene."

Nabrood thought for a moment then asked, "What has she suggested?"

"We get them out now, before dawn. Or we let the ship go. It's your call. If you can mount a rescue operation in time, then get them out. Otherwise…"

She trailed off, letting the obvious conclusion hang in the air.

Yolan looked at his timepiece and swore softly. There was only an hour of darkness left, but he had made a promise to the young, Rebel Commander. And he was not about to renege on it without at least trying.

"Tell her that we'll get them out. Alert Gage. I'll take one of the Rebels with me." He started to turn but stopped, turning back, "We'd better take a wagon as well, just in case we need to stretcher them out."

Lyn nodded and walked on along the corridor.

Nabrood turned, walking back into the room. He moved across to Hobbie, touching him lightly on the shoulder and motioning him to follow with a tilt of his head. Hobbie pushed himself to his feet, following him out of the door.

"Events have taken a different turn," Nabrood told him. "We must release your friends now, within the hour. You are familiar with them, and they with you. Are you willing to help us get them out?"

"Yes!" Hobbie replied, without hesitation.

Nabrood grinned at him, "Good! Then follow me and do exactly as I say!"

.oo00oo.

Pashra Navreen looked at the Port official in disbelief. "But we've declared everything we brought in!" he argued. "And we haven't done any business here! So how come you have to search our ship?"

The Port official shrugged, pulling a face, obviously as disgruntled as the man he was talking too. "Don't ask me, mate. It's a pain in the rear for us too. But with the new Governor and all…"

"Oh, this is ridiculous!"

"I agree, mate. I honestly, do! The sooner we look at your ship, though, the quicker yer gonna be outa here!"

Navreen swore but stepped back allowing the small group of men into the ship. "Crale!" he yelled, "We've got company!"

"Sorry mate," the Port official apologised as Dengar appeared in the corridor and the other officials disappeared into the ship. "We was all ready to let yas go. Then the damned Imperials get in on the act!"

He pulled a sour face, "I was supposed to be home an hour ago! Me wife's gonna kill me!"

"For this reason," Crale commiserated, forcing his voice to sound calm and sympathetic, "I never got married!"

Restless, Pashra followed the inspectors from room to room as they went over the ship, giving most things a cursory glance, but looking everywhere. Dengar had gone back to the living area and was sitting watching a vid, feet up on the table, doing his best to look calm and unconcerned, but his stomach lurched every time he heard the inspectors shout that they were moving to another area.

There was no way that the inspectors should be able to find the secret room where the two Rebels were confined… but you never knew…

Finally the older official wandered back in. "Well, mate," he confirmed, "that's us finished. Load a nonsense if you ask me, but its more than me job's worth not to… yas understand…" He held out a datapad, "If you'll just stick your ID down…"

Dengar completed the form as Navreen lounged at the door. He handed the data pad back to the official, "So are we free to go now?"

"Not exactly!" another voice said from behind Navreen.

Pashra spun round. Nabrood gave both bounty hunters a wide smile then advised the official, "I think you had better leave!"

The official gulped, grabbing the pad off of Dengar and rushing out of the door, pushing his way past the other bounty hunter. Dengar gave the newcomer a long flat look, "And who the hell are you?"

"I," Nabrood told them, motioning that Pashra should join his colleague inside the room, "am the man that you have just stolen several hundreds of thousands of credits from. And I'm very unhappy about that!"

"What the hells are you talking about?" Pashra demanded, backing slowly away towards Dengar. He kept his face neutral as two more men appeared, their faces covered, blasters held easily in their hands. Dengar eyed them warily, trying to gauge if he would have a chance to dive for the blaster secured beneath the nearby seat.

Nabrood stepped into the room. The two others followed, fanning out to stand either side of the door.

"I had a little deal set up," Nabrood explained. "A little deal involving the new Imperial Governor and a certain group of Rebel Alliance pilots who were staying it the Dirgelliaa Grand Hotel. You have just ruined that deal for me…"

"Look…" Dengar began.

Nabrood held up a hand to silence him, interrupting, "Please… do continue to plead your innocence… It's such a long time since I've had a chance to make someone change their mind…" He let the threat hang, smiling coldly, "I am three Rebels down, gentlemen. You have two of them and I want them back."

Pashra licked his lips.

The fact that this man hadn't bothered to cover his face and so easily dropped the name of the Imperial Governor into the explanation meant that either he was pulling a damned good bluff… or he intended that neither Pashra nor Dengar were going to leave here alive. Pashra stalled for time, "And if we do have them, what's in it for us?"

"Your lives," Nabrood supplied quietly. "We take the Rebels. You leave with your ship and your lives intact. Under the circumstances I think that I'm being more than generous… You have, after all, already killed one of the Rebels…"

Pashra swallowed, "Killed…?"

"The one you slammed in the chest with the shockstick," Nabrood reminded them silkily. "It discharged into his heart and he was dead before he hit the floor."

Dengar swore silently. These people obviously had no idea that the dead Rebel was Luke Skywalker. It could only be a matter of time before they found out: and if that happened while he and Pashra were still on-planet, they would be in a whole world of hurt. Skywalker was worth more than the others put together.

His eyes flickered towards the concealed blaster.

"I wouldn't," one of the masked goons cautioned. "You won't reach it in time."

"Look," Dengar began, also beginning to realise just how much trouble he and his partner could be in, "we can come to some arrangement…"

"We already have an arrangement," Nabrood replied pleasantly. "I get the Rebels, you get to live…"

He gave Dengar a smile that sent a shiver down the man's spine, "Is there perhaps something about this that you don't understand. I do not believe there is any way for me to explain it more clearly…"

"We didn't mean to step on anyone's toes…"

Nabrood looked at him. "Really?" he asked lightly. "Then please explain why even the Diazez Cartel was unaware that you were mounting an operation. I, of course, checked with the Cartel Manwah. She is rather displeased, to say the least."

Pashra swore.

"Indeed," Nabrood agreed, looking at his timepiece. "Well, gentlemen, you have another sixty seconds… Then things will begin to get more interesting…"

Dengar looked at Pashra, who nodded. "Okay. We'll take you to them."

Nabrood smiled, "You," he said, pointing to Dengar, "will stay here with me. Insurance, you understand. You," he continued, pointing at Pashra, "will go with my colleagues to get the Rebels."

The bounty hunters both nodded.

Pashra walked forward, moving past Nabrood into the corridor. The two masked gunmen turned and followed. Pashra led them through the ship, stopping in front of a panel and pressing part of it with his hand. It slid forward then moved to the side.

Alissha took a step back from the door, eyes going wide as she saw the two masked strangers with the bounty hunter.

For a brief moment, Alissha and the bounty hunter looked at one another. Then a wave of dismay and surprise swept across the bounty hunter's face at the same time as Alissha heard the sound of a blaster being fired. Slowly, the bounty hunter crumpled to the floor.

Alissha started to scream, launching herself at the nearest masked man. She fought like a wild cat, determined to break free as someone caught hold of her, dragging her off of the other man and pinning her on her back. Then someone slapped her face, hard.

She lay still, stunned, pain shooting across her face.

"Oh hells!" Hobbie swore as Ali went still. He hadn't seen the bruising on her face before he slapped her to break her out of her panicked struggle. She stared up at him. "Ali!" he called, "Shit! Ali, are you okay?"

She looked at him in numb incomprehension, recognition slowly dawning. "Hobbie…?"

"Yeah," he told her as she reached for him. He helped her sit up. "Hells, Ali, I'm sorry…"

"Wedge!" she interrupted, still not quite believing that Hobbie was here. She tried to get to her feet. "He's hurt. Real bad…"

Nabrood was running down the corridor towards Hobbie. He had stunned the other bounty hunter moments after he had heard the shot ringing down the corridor. He slid to a stop in time to hear the woman say that Antilles was injured.

Gage was already inside the tiny room, kneeling beside the dark-haired man lying on the deck. Gage glanced up at Nabrood, indicating the injury to the man's chest, saying simply, "Shockstick."

Nabrood swore softly then heard the woman telling Hobbie that Antilles hadn't been able to move his legs. "Careful," he warned Gage, reaching for his com unit. "They may have hit him on the spine as well."

"Figures," Gage spat.

"King-Eagle to Redbird," Nabrood said into the com unit, "one down. Move in."

"Copied, King-Eagle," a voice replied in his earpiece. "On our way."

Nabrood turned to Hobbie and the woman, dropping into a crouch beside them. "I need you both to come with me, now."

Hobbie nodded, squeezing Ali's shoulder.

"Wedge…" Ali protested as Hobbie helped her get to her feet.

"Will join you," Nabrood assured her. "My colleagues are bringing a stretcher for him now."

"What about them?" Hobbie asked, nodding in the direction of the unconscious bounty hunter.

"That," Nabrood told him, "is not your concern."

Hobbie saw the coldness in the other man's eyes, heard the undertone in his voice and decided that he really didn't want to know what was going to happen to the bounty hunters. Hobbie nodded, saying nothing more.

From the far end of the corridor a voice called, "Boss?"

"Here!" Nabrood replied.

Two men appeared, pushing a gravsled in front of them. Nabrood stood back, letting them go past and into the room where Gage sat with Antilles. Then he turned, telling the two Rebels, "This way," walking down the corridor, leading Hobbie and Alissha to the wagon.

.oo00oo.

Jenniiya turned over as the bedroom door opened. She had been lying awake, unable to sleep, thinking about Skywalker and the two Rebel pilots Nabrood was trying to rescue. "Lights!"

Wall lamps flickered into existence, shining dimly.

Lyn closed the door behind her. "Yolan reports that both pilots have been freed," she told Jenniiya. "But they're both injured. He doubts if Antilles will be leaving us any time soon. The hunters discharged a shockstick straight into his spine. He's unconscious. The woman has severe bruising to her face but appears to be otherwise uninjured."

Jenniiya sighed then asked, "Has the physician returned yet?"

"Yes." Lyn confirmed. "And I've informed him that he has two more patients arriving shortly. I've also had housekeeping ready another room. I thought it best…"

Jenniiya nodded, "Good thinking."

Lyn smiled, "Both bounty hunters have been neutralised but are still alive. Do you want them left in the ship or should Yolan to bring him back here?"

"I think…" Jenniiya began slowly, smiling coldly, "that they should be brought here and taught some manners… They've caused us too much trouble to simply let them go."

Lyn nodded again, touching the comlink that nestled behind her ear, "King-Eagle this is Blue-Hawk!"

"King-Eagle, go," Nabrood's voice answered in her ear.

"Bring the broken birds here."

"Copied," Nabrood's disembodied voice told her. "We are returning to you now…"

"They're on their way back," Lyn informed Jenniiya. "Do you want me to cancel this evening's dinner with the Governor?"

Jenniiya groaned and flopped back onto the pillows. With everything that had happened in the previous few hours she had completely forgotten about the invitation to the new Governor. But there was nothing she could do…

The Clans in the Cartel knew about the invitation and eyebrows would be raised if she were to cancel. And the Clans would definitely have heard not only about the incident at the hotel, but of customs holding the bounty ship on her orders. In the present situation she didn't want or need any questions from the Chieftains – especially if one of them decided that they had seen an opportunity to get some kind of hold over the Cartel Director.

Shaking her head she propped herself up on her elbow. "No. Dinner will go ahead…" She thought for a moment. "Cancel the hair stylist and manicure. The fewer strangers we have in the manor at the moment, the better. If you can help me with my hair, I can polish my own nails."

Lyn smiled. "After your last attempt," she cautioned, "perhaps it would be wise to leave your nails bare…"

Jenniiya laughed softly, remembering the ruined rug, "Perhaps."

Then she pushed the cover back, swinging her legs out of bed, "See if security can rustle up some kaffin. I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight. I'll wait up for Yolan returning."

"Should I let our guests know that their colleagues have been freed?" Lyn asked as she turned towards the door.

"Are they awake?"

"I do not believe so."

"Then," Jenniiya decided, "let them rest. With any luck we will be able to get them off planet tomorrow and they'll need the sleep."

Lyn nodded, opening the door. She tilted her head to the side, listening for a moment before touching her earpiece, acknowledging, "Copied." Then she turned back to Jenniiya, "Yolan will be here in fifteen minutes. I'll have holding cells readied for his prisoner."

.oo00oo.

Hobbie cradled a shaking Alissha, holding her tightly as the wagon made its way through the streets of the Gehndaarian capitol. Across from them, Wedge lay unconscious on a stretcher secured to the floor, a neck brace holding his head immobile. Also unconscious, but lying in an undignified heap, hands secured behind their backs, lay the bounty hunters. Nabrood's men had their blasters trained on the prone figures.

Wedge moaned softly and his eyes flickered open.

Alissha slipped from Hobbie's embrace but Nabrood stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, moving himself to kneel beside the pilot. He watched Antilles, waiting for the pilot to surface to full wakefullness, but the young man's eyes slid closed as he dropped back into unconsciousness.

Yolan frowned, but said nothing, moving back to sit beside Alissha. He glanced at the young woman, trading a look with Hobbie before turning his attention back to the prone figure on the floor.

Hobbie tightened his arm around Alissha as he heard a small sob that was stifled in her throat. "It's okay…"

"No…" she whispered, tears streaming down her face, "It's not… He's hurt, Hobbie, really badly…"

He turned his head, kissing her hair, assuring her, "Trust me, Ali. I've seen the facilities these people have and everything's going to be fine."

She nodded, but went on, "He was in so much pain…"

"There is a physician waiting back at the manor," Nabrood told her. "He will do everything he can…"

Alissha looked at him, then nodded, her eyes drifting across the silent figure of Wedge to rest on the unconscious men on the floor. "Bounty hunters?" she asked.

"Yes," Nabrood confirmed, then added, "Operating outside our remit, much to their misfortune."

He flashed Alissha a broad smile as she looked back at him. "They will soon learn the folly of their mistake…"

"Nabrood's people are the ones we're here to make contact with," Hobbie told her.

Nabrood shook his head, putting his finger to his lips and motioning at the bounty hunters with his head. Hobbie understood the unspoken warning not to say any more and nodded. Alissha frowned, her expression vague as she turned and looked back at the two men on the floor.

"Everything will be explained when we reach the manor," Nabrood assured the pilots. He checked his timepiece, "And we will be there soon."


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Jenniiya watched from a window three floors above as the wagon pulling into the courtyard. Nabrood climbed out of the back of the vehicle, pausing to help a woman out. The Rebel pilot who had accompanied Nabrood followed the woman, wrapping his arm protectively around her as they walked towards the door to the kitchens.

This early, the kitchens would be all-but deserted. The house-keeping staff wouldn't arrive for at least another hour and only her most trusted people would be around. As with her other Rebel guests, no one but a carefully chosen few would know that Alliance personnel had been brought to the Manwah's home.

Jenniiya continued to watch as more of Yolan's security force appeared from the house and ran towards the wagon. They unloaded a gurney, pausing for a moment to check the occupant before two of the men pushed it carefully towards the house. The others disappeared back into the wagon. Then two unconscious bodies were hauled out onto the cobbled courtyard.

These, Jenniiya assumed, could only be the bounty hunters.

Her assumption was confirmed when the men were dragged in another direction, towards the holding cells beneath the manor. They would be left to reflect upon their actions for a few hours after they regained consciousness. Only then would she deal with them: once she had worked out just how much their little operation had cost her in money, time and favours called in. By then she would also have had time to think about exactly what she would demand in reparation.

There was another variable she had to take into account too - her dinner with the new Imperial Governor. She would decide nothing until she had gauged his knowledge of the incidents.

She had ensured that everything possible had been done to keep things quiet, but anyone who believed that every avenue of information leakage could be covered, was a fool.

"Manwah?" a soft voice called from behind her.

Jenniiya turned. Lyn walked towards her along the corridor, waiting until she had reached Jenniiya before telling her, "We've located all the equipment Doctor Vezlentz needs for Skywalker. It should be here within the next hours."

"Good," Jenniiya nodded then asked, "Is there any update on Skywalker's condition?"

"Holding his own, but still critical," Lyn confirmed. "Doctor Vezlentz plans to operate later today."

Jenniiya nodded again, "Make any further preparations he requires. Has he been told about the new casualties?"

"He has only just been informed," Lyn verified, "I waited until the pilots had arrived. Keer is taking him up to the room we've prepared for them."

Jenniiya nodded, starting to move along the corridor, "Let's see if we can offer some moral support then shall we? And I can get a debrief from Nabrood at the same time…"

Lyn dropped into step beside her, reminding her. "You have an appointment after breakfast…"

"I haven't forgotten," Jenniiya smiled, then admonished, "Stop worrying! After I've spoken to Yolan I'll get some sleep… Has there been anything further from the hotel? No media hounds getting interested? No rumours in the city?"

"Nothing that has been reported back to us," Lyn supplied. "Gahb has her ears to the ground, however. She will report to us the first moment she hears any stirrings of gossip…"

Jenniiya nodded, "Good…"

She thought for a moment then decided, "I will wake the other pilots, inform them that their friends are safe."

"I can do that," Lyn countered but Jenniiya shook her head.

"You have had less sleep that I," she reminded her assistant. "Get some sleep now. I will ensure all reports come to me for the next few hours. I need to have you alert…"

Lyn nodded, "Of course, Manwah…"

"Thank you, Lyn. Go now…"

Dismissed, Lyn turned and headed for her rooms. Taking a deep breath, Jenniiya moved in the opposite direction, heading up to the rooms where the Rebel pilots were being hidden.

.oo00oo.

Hobbie guided Alissha along the corridor and up the stairs: following Nabrood as Gage and Zren headed towards the elevator with Wedge. Emotionally and physically exhausted, Alissha was shaking and by the time they started up the last flight of stairs, Hobbie was all but carrying her.

She stumbled and Hobbie steadied her. Above them, Nabrood turned then swore softly and moved back down to them. "Forgive me," he told Hobbie, "I should have offered before…"

Hobbie opened his mouth to ask, "Offered what?" but Nabrood had already stooped and swept Alissha into his arms. He turned, effortlessly carrying her up the flight of stairs and along the corridor. Hobbie followed him.

Jenniiya was waiting for them in. She opened a door as they approached, motioning them inside.

"Gage is bringing Antilles up in the elevator," Nabrood told her as he passed.

"Keer is there to meet them," she replied then turned to Hobbie. "Do you wish to stay with them, or wake your other friends and let them know?" she asked. "We thought it best to let them sleep…"

Hobbie considered the options for a moment then decided, "I'd better stay with Alissha. She's pretty shook up…"

Jenniiya nodded, "Of course. Stay with her. I will wake the others once the Doctor has seen your friends…"

"Thanks… How's Luke?" he asked.

"There has been no change," she told him. "He's sleeping…"

Hobbie nodded, telling her, "Thank you…" Then he turned and headed into the room.

Nabrood had set Alissha down in an easy chair near the fire and the Doctor was examining the bruising on her face. "You have certainly been through the wars," he commented.

Nabrood cut in before she could say anything, "They are friends of our other guests. They were attacked at the same time but there were complications in bringing them here. With the Governor's arrival we are doing what we can to keep the incident under wraps and deal with it ourselves… You understand…"

Vezlentz glanced at him before turning his attention back to the young woman. He had served the Manwah's family from the time of her grandfather. He had a very good idea of what Nabrood meant: enough to know that he wanted to know no further details…

"You've been lucky," he told Alissha, reading the data on the bio-pad. "You have sustained no permanent damage to the tissue. There is no evidence of fracture. I will give you something for the pain and the swelling…"

Hobbie closed his eyes in silent relief, moving towards Alissha. Behind him Gage guided the gravsled through the door, pushing it across the room towards the bed. Jenniiya followed, moving to stand beside Nabrood.

Kneeling beside Alissha, holding her hands, Hobbie watched as the doctor pulled back the blanket covering Wedge and began to examine him. He tutted as he saw the wound on Wedge's chest. "This injury," he announced, "is similar to the one on the other young man…"

Nabrood nodded, announcing simply, "They will pay…"

Vezlentz pulled a bioscanner from his pocket, running it slowly over Wedge, frowning at the readings. "The weapon was also discharged into his spine…"

"He," Alissha began, "He said he couldn't feel his legs…" She looked at Hobbie, "He said he couldn't feel his legs…"

"Shhh," Hobbie comforted, caressing her hand with his thumb. "It'll be okay. The doc here will make it okay…"

Vezlentz put the scanner down, selecting a vial from his case and pushing it into a hypodermic before lifting an antiseptic swab. Turning back, he swabbed Wedge's arm then slid the hypodermic in, slowly releasing the medication.

Withdrawing the needle, he sterilised it, selected another vial and pushing it into place. He lifted the bioscanner, checking the readings, waiting for a few moments before putting it down and sliding the hypodermic back into Wedge's arm.

"He should not be moved," he said, looking up at Nabrood and Jenniiya as the medication discharged into Wedge's arm. "At least, not for the moment."

Withdrawing the needle, he glanced across at Alissha and Hobbie then rose to his feet, moving closer to Nabrood and Jenniiya, continuing quietly, "The spine itself does not appear to have been affected, but there is nerve damage, tissue damage… possibly damage to the spinal chord. I will be able to tell you more once the swelling goes down."

He glanced at Wedge, "I have given him pain and anti-inflammatory medication. The young woman," he went on, glancing round at her, "has no serious injuries, but I believe a sedative may be in order, to let her sleep."

As the doctor explained the injuries, Jenniiya schooled her face into calm concern, fighting down the rising irritation at the complications the slimeshruff bounty hunters were causing.

Her father had taught her never to make a decision based on emotion. All decisions should be made based on facts and figures, for the benefit of the Clans and, therefore, the Cartel. In the years since his death, in the years since she had stepped into his shoes as Manwah, she had followed that tenet… until the whispers about the events surrounding Alderaan's destruction had grown more insistent.

The clan chiefs had appeared unconcerned about events so far away. Their reaction to the request from the Rebel Alliance had been a resounding "no"… but Jenniiya knew their unwillingness to do anything that might draw Imperial attention was more influenced by a potential decrease in their illicit earnings than in any political motivation.

Jenniiya, however, had found it difficult to ignore the Rebel plea. She had spoken with Lyn and Nabrood, to gauge their reaction. Lyn had surprised her with her in-depth knowledge of Imperial politics. Nabrood had been sympathetic to the Rebels, agreeing that they were not the terrorists the Imperial propaganda portrayed them as, but counselling caution.

In the end they had both supported Jenniiya's decision to help the Rebels: a decision made with her heart and not with her head; a decision that was now coming back to haunt her. A new Imperial Governor; a missing X-wing; three injured Rebels…

"Thank you for attending them, Doctor," she told Vezlentz. "I truly appreciate your assistance this evening. I assure you, your diligence will be well rewarded…"

Vezlentz found a smile: the sort of smile an indulgent grandfather would give a favourite grandchild. "I understand how… delicate… a time this is for you. I will ensure that these good people are given the best care with nothing more than my usual retainer…"

Jenniiya nodded her gratitude, "Thank you, Doctor."

"Now," Vezlentz went on, "I have medication, but I will require more from my surgery. If you could arrange for someone to go there, I will ensure my daughter has it ready..."

"If necessary," Jenniiya told him, "I will go myself…"

He bowed then turned away.

Jenniiya shot a look at Nabrood then moved across the room to where Hobbie was kneeling beside the female pilot. "The Doctor advises rest," she told the woman, gently. "There are cots in the next room…"

"No," Alissha interrupted. "No! I won't leave Wedge on his own…"

"I'll wake Lainey or Brin," Hobbie assured her, squeezing her hands in gentle reassurance. "They're sleeping next door. One of them can stay with Wedge."

"No," Alissha tried.

"The Doctor's right," Hobbie pushed, "you need to rest. You should get some sleep…"

"As should you," Jenniiya reminded him. She smiled, finishing, "As should I… It is almost sunrise and I have a breakfast meeting to attend."

Alissha stood her ground, "No…"

Hobbie rolled his eyes in frustration.

Jenniiya touched Alissha's shoulder, pulling rank. Voice still quiet, but now full of authority, she told the Rebel pilot, "Lieutenant Downhigher, you are a guest in my house, but I will not allow you to endanger myself, my people or your colleagues. In the next few hours you may have to move quickly and without your wits dulled by lack of sleep! Therefore, you may now make a decision. Do you wish to go next door, under your own power, to sleep: or shall I have the Doctor sedate you and have Yolan carry you next door?"

Stunned the pilot blinked at her, then swallowed. Hobbie had to look away, unable to stop the small grin that crept across his face.

"I apologise, Ma'am…" Alissha acknowledged. "It's… been a rough day…" She pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. Hobbie stood up, taking her elbow to steady her.

Jenniiya nodded. "I understand, Lieutenant." She turned to Hobbie, "I will stay with Wedge until your colleague comes through."

"Thank you," he told her.

"One moment," Vezlentz advised, walking across and holding out a small box out to Alissha. "This will ease the pain and allow you to rest."

Alissha took the box, thanking the Doctor, then allowed Hobbie to guide her towards the door. As they walked out into the corridor, Alissha couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled up. Hobbie glanced at her, asking, "What?"

"That woman," she explained. "She reminds me of the Princess Leia…"

Yolan moved across to Jenniiya as the door closed behind the Rebels and the Doctor turned his attention back to the dark-haired Rebel pilot. "This does not bode well, Manwah…"

"As long as the incident is kept quiet, there will be no issue," Jenniiya told him. "The clan chiefs will concern themselves only if it might involve the Empire paying enough attention to restrict their income… You and I both know that the Empire have greater matters to be concerned with. As long as the new Governor does not feel threatened, or throw his weight around to make a point, there will be no issue… and if this situation is not drawn to his attention, he will do neither."

Not wanting to say too much in front of the Doctor, Jenniiya finished simply, "We shall deal with this as we always do: in-house and in our own way…"

Nabrood stepped closer, dropping his voice, warning her, "Manwah, handing fighters over to the Rebel Alliance; giving hospitality to Rebel sympathisers for a few hours: that is one thing. This is entirely different! If the chieftains discover you are harbouring Rebels beneath your roof and endangering the Cartel, they may mutiny. And if the Empire discover it, your position will not save you! They will brand you a terrorist! You will be arrested like a common criminal!"

"And what would you have me do?" she countered. "Cast them out? Do you forget that we have only five fighters? Which Rebel should we throw to the Empire? Or are you counting on this man," she went on, indicating Antilles, "dying? Or perhaps the one in the next room?"

Nabrood said nothing, but his lips tightened into a tight line, his jaw clenching.

Jenniiya had seen that look before: normally in a Cartel council meeting when he was contemplating the advantages of assassinating a clan chieftain for their stubborn, short-sighted, bloody-mindedness. It had always caused her amusement: now it brought her up short.

Anger fading, she sighed, touching his arm, telling him, "Yolan, forgive me. I am never at my best without sleep. You know I always appreciate your council. Of course we must tread carefully…"

He relaxed, finding a smile. "Thank you, Manwah…"

She nodded, "And with that, I shall retire and get some sleep. It would be unseemly for the Manwah to yawn her way through a meeting." She touched his arm, "You should get some rest too. I have already sent Lyn to her bed…"

Unable to resist the small spark of wickedness, Nabrood gave her a formal bow, mocking gently, "Your desire is my commandment, Manwah…"

"Oh," Jenniiya told, him, turning toward the door," if that were only true!"

.oo00oo.

Pashra Navreen drifted towards consciousness.

He was cold. He felt like crap: hangover from hell. What had he been drinking? Who had he been drinking with? He frowned, groaning softly as he surfaced towards awareness and the cold began to gather against his back. Too tired to move, he lay where he was for as long as he could bear it.

Then, groaning softly again, he tried to sit up.

He couldn't move…

Panic flared and he slammed awake, blinking into the semi-darkness. "Lights!"

The room remained dimly lit.

"LIGHTS!"

The room stayed dark.

Fighting down the mounting panic, he tried to move again. His arms were stretched out above his head, secured at the wrists by metal bands. His legs were secured too, at the ankles.

Memories began to flow in: two Rebel pilots, Antilles and a woman; a third Rebel, Skywalker, dead; masked men boarding the ship with another man who hadn't bothered to hide his face…

_I am the man that you have just stolen several hundreds of thousands of credits from_…

Fear flared.

…_explain why the __Diazez Cartel was unaware of your operation. I, of course, checked with the Cartel Manwah_.

Swallowing, fear gnawing at his insides, Pashra closed his eyes. There was no thrum of a ship beneath him. In all likelihood he was still in the Gehndaarian capital city but, no matter what, he was in deep poodoo…

If he had been lucky, he hadn't been handed over to the Diazez Cartel and the man from the ship would question him then kill him. If he had been really unlucky, he was now in the cells beneath the Diazez Manwah's mansion and once they had finished with him, he would be sold into slavery.

A third option occurred to him and he moaned softly, terror and anger washing through him.

This could be an Imperial detention cell.

Damn it, where had this all gone so wrong? Ten hours ago it had all seemed so simple. They hit the hotel, drag out Antilles and Downhigher, sit around for a while then blast off to hand over the Rebels and collect the bounty… Too simple to start messing around with the Diazez Cartel: or so he'd thought.

He'd been wrong. That mistake was going to cost him his life… if he was lucky.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Vezlentz smiled as the young man's eyes slid open. "Hello there," he greeted. Then he warned, "Don't try to move... You're safe and in good hands but you've been injured… Do you remember what happened?"

Wedge swallowed, telling the man, "Yes…" The details were still a little fuzzy but he remembered being attacked in the hotel, remembered waking up on the ship… "Alissha?"

"Your companion is resting," Vezlentz supplied. "She is not badly injured, although she will sport a rather fetching black eye for a few days…"

Relief flooded through Wedge and he closed his eyes.

Vezlentz lifted the mediscanner again, running it over him. "You were hit by a shockstick," the Doctor explained, "A crude but effective weapon. The setting, however, was too high for human use. The charge has caused inflammation around your spine, but," he finished hastily as he saw the look on the younger man's face, "any damage should not be permanent."

Wedge's terror receded, but worry still gnawed at his stomach. What if it was permanent? What if he was stuck like this for ever?

"Now," Vezlentz went on, "I have given you an analgesic and anti-inflammatory. Are you still in any pain?"

"Not really…" Wedge supplied.

"Good, good… Now, I need to confirm that the scan readings are correct," the doctor continued, showing Wedge a stylus. "I am going to touch certain points of your body with this. Confirm for me, please, when you can feel it touching your skin. I will start with your feet and legs…"

Wedge nodded, panic mounting as the seconds dragged past and he didn't feel anything.

"Now," the doctor said finally, "let us test your hands and arms…"

Wedge confirmed every touch of the stylus on his fingers, hands and arms and was reassured when the doctor beamed at him.

"It is as I thought," Vezlentz confirmed. "The injury is causing temporary numbness to the lower part of your body. I'm afraid that, at the moment, I can't tell you how long it will take for the feeling to return, but it may be days before you are fully recovered, rather than hours…"

_Days…_

Wedge looked at him in horror. They were due to fly out soon. "Doc, I can't stay here for days…"

Vezlentz gave him the same look that he saved for the Manwah when she too was being stubborn. "My dear young man," he informed Wedge quietly, "you are under my care and you will do exactly as I tell you! Otherwise I shall be forced to simply sedate you."

He smiled gently, asking, "Do we understand one another?"

Wedge swallowed, the thought of being sedated terrifying him. "Yes…" he accepted grudgingly. "We understand one another…"

"Excellent!" the doctor grinned.

.oo00oo.

The warble of the alarm on her timepiece dragged Jenniiya out of a troubled sleep. Groaning softly, she reached out, trying to find the source of the noise on her bedside table, slapping the timepiece with her hand to shut it up. She had learnt long ago that if she simply stopped the noise by voice de-activation, she would go back to sleep. When she had been in her early teens, and starting to learn the reigns of running the Cartel, she had left the alarm on the far side of the room. Physically having to get up to switch it off meant that there was no danger of her going back to sleep.

Jenniiya, just like her father, was not a morning person. Given the chance to work through the night or get up at dawn, she would prefer the former.

The door chimed.

Sighing softly, beginning to review the events of the evening before, Jenniiya sat up, rubbing her face with her hands. "Come!"

The door opened, admitting a serving droid with a tray of fruit, newly-baked bread and a large pot of kaffin. "Good morning, Manwah," the droid greeted cheerfully. "Miss Lyn said you wished only coffee and a light breakfast this morning. You have two hours before your business appointment. Shall I draw you a bath?"

"No," Jenniiya told her, breathing in the scent of the fresh-brewed kaffin that reached her. "I shall shower this morning." She swung her legs out of the bed. "Are Lyn and Yolan awake?"

"Miss Areese will join you shortly. She is just concluding her meeting," the droid supplied, setting the tray down on a table in the bay window. "Master Nabrood is being woken now."

"Who is Lyn meeting with," Jenniiya asked, lifting a robe from her bed and slipping it on.

"Miss Gahb, Manwah."

Getting an update of the word on the street overnight, Jenniiya concluded. "Tell Nabrood that I wish to see him."

"Yes, Manwah."

Jenniiya walked across to the table, sitting down as the droid turned and headed for the door. Filling a cup with kaffin, savouring the taste of the dark, bitter liquid, Jenniiya pondered the previous day's events. She had the feeling that she had overlooked something, not that that would have been difficult in the maelstrom that had enveloped them the night before.

Six Rebels under her roof: three of them injured, two seriously; five Incom snub fighters when there should have been six; and one Imperial Governor…

The Rebels she had some control over, the Governor too, although until she met him face-to-face she couldn't be sure how much. The X-Wings, however, she had no idea about. The Gribbs had tried to swindle her once: it was possible that they thought they could try it twice.

She doubted that Yolan would have had any experience with an X-Wing. Lyn still managed to surprise her, but it was highly unlikely that even she would have any experience. However, they had fighter pilots here now.

No definite arrangements had been made for the pilots to leave. Before anything was decided, one of the Rebels should check the fighters, to make sure that they hadn't been sabotaged by the Gribbs' misguided extortion scam.

The door chimed.

"Come…"

Lyn smiled as she walked in. "You look like hell…"

Jenniiya pulled a face. "One day I'll have you killed for your honesty…"

"But not today," Lyn laughed, sliding into the seat opposite Jenniiya. She reached for the kaffin pot, continuing, "Because, I have news to cheer you. There appears to be no fall-out from our adventures last night. Neither the Empire nor the hotel appear to be aware of what happened. And the Port officials have accepted that the owners of the ship acted without the sanction of the Cartel..."

"It's not the first time," Jenniiya began, selecting a ripe quumat.

"Nor, I have no doubt, will it be the last," Lyn finished, taking a mouthful of coffee before going on. "The ship has been impounded without question. The Gribbs' ship has been put in storage."

"Good," Jenniiya told her, "And Gahb?"

"Has confirmed that there's no gossip on the streets about the Rebels or the bounty hunters."

"Then we have some time, at least…"

Lyn looked at her, "Do you think there's going to be trouble?"

"I always believe there's going to be trouble, you know that," Jenniiya reminded her, pouring a second cup of kaffin. "Do we have any news of the injured pilots?"

"Skywalker's condition is stable," Lynn supplied. "He had a comfortable night and the doctor still plans to operate today. Antilles has woken. He's stable but paralysed from the chest down… Neither of them will be able to leave us today."

"We can arrange to get them off-world as soon as they can be moved," Jenniiya told her.

The door chimed then opened to admit Yolan. Barefoot and bare-chested, he stopped, looking at Jenniiya for a brief moment. Then he quirked an eyebrow, walking towards her, asking, "Did you get any sleep at all?"

Jenniiya glared at him, and then at Lyn as the other woman chuckled.

"I'll have you both executed!"

"I have no doubt," Nabrood countered, "but not today…" He grinned, bowing deeply before intoning, "You demanded my presence, Manwah?"

"I did," Jenniiya told him. "Take one of the pilots to check over the fighters. Make sure they can, actually, fly."

"With your permission," Yolan suggested, "Gage should take them. I would prefer to stay closer to home…"

"Agreed," Jenniiya confirmed. "Also find out if the X-Wings can be remotely flown. We have five fighters and only four pilots. And while you do that," she went on, pushing herself to her feet, "I have a shower calling to me. Apparently I look frightening enough to scare small children…"

.oo00oo.

Luke drifted awake to the annoying, steady beep of an alarm…

No… not an alarm… the sound was too soft to be an alarm… _Had Uncle Lars bought some new equipment? Boy, but that was going to be annoying until he got used to it…_

He considered turning over and pulling the covers over his head, but he was comfortable as he was; too comfortable to be bothered moving… Taking a deep breath, he sighed softly.

"Luke?"

Groaning softly, he tried to remember what he had done the day before that had exhausted him. It felt like his head had only just touched the pillow. It couldn't be time to get up…

He opened his eyes… and started fully awake.

_This wasn't the farm…_

"Luke?" the voice called again.

He turned his head… and recognised the man sitting beside his bed. "Brin…"

Hanniff-Brin Aksha smiled, quipping, "Morning, Boss… The Doc said you'd be awake soon…"

Luke blinked at him, trying to remember everything that had happened. "What…?" he began.

Brin rested a hand on his arm, telling him, "Wedge and Alissha are safe. The Manwah's people got them back last night. Hobbie went with that Nabrood guy to get them."

Luke remembered Nabrood. He remembered a beautiful woman too… _The Manwah?_

Another memory flashed at him: of two men walking towards him with something slung over their shoulders. _Bounty Hunters_…

"From the ship…"

Brin nodded, "Yeah. The Manwah spoke to customs or something to get them delayed. Hobbie was still awake so he went with them, friendly face and all that…"

"Good idea," Luke thought aloud, then asked, "How are they?"

"Alissha's sporting a very impressive black eye. She can't see out of it right now and she's going to be bloody sore for a while, but she'll be okay," Brin supplied. "Wedge is in only slightly better shape than you, though. They took him down with the same weapon, but in the spine. He won't be moving under his own power any time soon…"

Luke swore.

"We've not spoken to that Manwah chick this morning," Brin went on, "so we've no idea if they still plan for us to take the X-wings today or not."

"Probably safer to get you out," Luke considered.

"I know," Brin agreed grudgingly. He didn't like leaving the Boss and Wedge behind, but the Manwah seemed to have figured out pretty much everything and Brin was content to go along with the plans she and her people had laid.

They obviously hadn't expected complications, but they'd dealt with them fast and without fuss. Brin had no illusions that, right about now, two bounty hunters were regretting their decision to grab Wedge and Alissha.

Luke was considering an entirely different problem. He knew he was badly injured. He knew that he wasn't fit for duty and certainly wouldn't be before that Doctor had operated and fixed whatever damage the bounty hunters had done.

He was hurting and he was terrified by how weak he was, but as the squad Commander he had to make sure that the other pilots made it back safely to Rebel lines. From what Brin had just told him, Wedge was badly injured too. Both Hobbie and the man sitting beside him right now were next in seniority. Hobbie had slightly more experience than Brin, but Brin was the one who was here right now, and he was just as capable as Hobbie.

"Get them back safe," Luke told him. "You're in command now."

Haniff-Brin Aksha looked at his Commander then nodded, grudgingly. "Okay, boss. But I don't like the idea of leaving you and Wedge behind…"

Luke closed his eyes, fatigue washing over him. "We can't do any good… Not like this…"

"I know," Brin replied, "Doesn't mean I have to like it though…"

"Don't like it much myself," Luke admitted.

"Well," Brin began, trying to lighten the mood, "At least you're in the hands of a pretty girl…"

Luke opened his eyes, looking at him, "Is she as gorgeous as I remember?"

"She's pretty knock-out," Brin grinned.

The door opened and Brin turned, looking at the power figure of Yolan Nabrood as he walked in. He was wearing only leather trousers and Brin could see, for the first time, the puckered scars and uneven skin-tone that hinted of having been caught in blaster fire. Brin had decided the night before that Nabrood wasn't a man to mess with. The scars only confirmed that impression.

He stood up as Nabrood approached them. The man acknowledged him with a nod, turning his attention to Skywalker, giving the blond man a reassuring smile. "You are awake! Good! I need to borrow one of your pilots…"

Luke nodded, his eyes sliding closed. "Brin…" he began. "Brin's in command now…"

"That's me," Aksha offered.

Nabrood turned, looking at him. "Then I need to borrow one of your pilots. The Manwah requires that we inspect the X-wings…"

Brin considered that for a moment. He was in Command now so he needed to be here and able to make decisions. Lainey had been sitting with Wedge most of the night and had only just got her head down. Alissha could do with resting up after her ordeal. "Hobbie," Brin told him. "Take Hobbie."

Nabrood nodded then glanced at Skywalker. The last thing the Commander needed was more worry, and he had already handed command of the pilots to Brin. Looking back at the other Rebel, Nabrood nodded towards the door. Brin got the message.

"Boss, I'm going to wake Hobbie. I'll be back in a minute…"

Luke made no sign that he'd heard.

Brin turned, following Nabrood out into the corridor. Yolan waited until the door had closed then asked, "Can your fighters be remotely flown or do they require pilots?"

"You mean for Wedge and Luke's fighters? They don't need pilots to go from A to B," Brin told him. "The astromech droids can do that…"

"Astromech droids?" Nabrood repeated.

Brin got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach from the way Nabrood said the words. "Yeah, they sit in the back of the fighter…" He paused then asked, "Is there a problem?"

Nabrood nodded, "Indeed. We had no chance to tell you before this. There has been treachery. Only five fighters were delivered…"

"And no droids," Brin surmised.

"I may be mistaken, but I do not remember seeing droids with the fighters. That is a minor problem," he assured Brin. "Droids can be found. The Manwah's biggest concern is that, considering the initial duplicity, the fighters may not be flight ready."

Brin sighed softly, telling him, "You need droids for that, friend. We just fly. It takes an engineer to confirm the flight readiness of the fighters and they rely on the droids telling them what's wrong…"

Nabrood swore softly, but succinctly.

"How did your suppliers get the T-65s here?" Brin asked.

"On a freighter," Nabrood supplied. "They manoeuvred them on grav sleds…"

"Look," Brin suggested, "take Hobbie out there. At least he can have a look to see if there's anything immediately obvious. Then we can take it from there."

Nabrood considered that then nodded. "A sound plan. Gage will take him. I shall also have men search the freighter."

"It's not gone already?" Brin asked.

The smile Nabrood gave him chilled him to the bone.

"No. It has not yet left…"

.oo00oo.

Vezlentz left the young, dark-haired Rebel and went to check on his other charge. One of the Rebel pilots was sitting with him: the tall, dark-haired man. Vezlentz smiled at him, telling him, "Your other friend is awake if you wish to see him."

Brin grinned, getting to his feet, "Thanks, Doc… How's Wedge doing?"

"He is comfortable," Vezlents confirmed. "His injury is not life-threatening and the condition is not permanent. It will take time for the swelling to go down, however, and there is some nerve damage. He will not regain full use of his legs immediately…"

"But he's not going to be crippled?"

Vezlentz smiled and shook his head, "Indeed, no… He already has some feeling returning."

Brin grinned in relief, clapping the doctor on the shoulder as he walked past him. "Thanks, Doc."

Vezlentz chuckled softly, shaking his head, putting his bag down on the table beside the young Rebel Commander's bed. Opening it, he took out his scanner, running it slowly across the pilot.

"Will I live?"

The voice was soft, devoid of any strength. Vezlentz looked at the readouts then nodded. "You will, indeed, young man… The medication I prescribed earlier is working and I am happy to advise that I will be able to operate within the next few hours. We should have you up and moving about tomorrow…"

Luke swallowed, relief washing through him. "Thank you…"

"You are most welcome," Vezlentz assured him.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Jenniiya stood still as Lyn pinned her hair into a style that would give Governor Oston the impression that she was more concerned with her looks than with running the Diazez Cartel. It was a ploy that they had used to their advantage before. It put Jenniiya at a distinct advantage.

People underestimated anyone they thought was more beauty than brains.

Jenniiya's thoughts were anywhere but on how her hair was pinned. She was running over the events of the previous day in her head, going over and over them to make sure she knew exactly what was going on. Nothing could be left to chance. There was still no gossip on the streets about the Rebels, but she wanted to be full prepared should the Governor try to blind-side her by announcing his knowledge of the bounty hunters and the Rebels they had targeted.

A message had been sent to the Rebel Alliance, informing them of the events and of the injured pilots, but it would be another few hours before it got to Alliance Command

Dr Vezlentz had confirmed that Skywalker's operation had gone to plan and that he was resting comfortably. The prognosis was good, but he was still unconscious and too weak to be moved. The tall, dark-haired, tanned Lieutenant Hannif-Brin Aksha was in command of the Rebels.

Antilles not only had feeling returning in his legs but had been able to stand for a few moments, with help from Brin and Hobbie. He was still in a great deal of pain from the nerve damage, but the doctor was keeping that under control

Hobbie had confirmed that the T-65s looked to be in serviceable condition, but Brin had cautioned that they wouldn't know that for sure until an astromech droids had been plugged in to do a diagnostic of the systems. The required astromech droids had, of course, been missing. Not that that was a problem. Nabrood had already dispatched people to secure five of the little units from different places around the city.

Jenniiya had a feeling, deep in her gut, that the X-wings would not be useable. The Corxians had correctly assumed that the Cartel's knowledge of snub fighters would be negligible. She had no doubt that somewhere in the depths of their ship lay the software or the hardware that would make them serviceable, but she had no idea what she was looking for. She doubted that the pilots would, either. As Brin had pointed out, they only flew them. There were dedicated teams of engineers to keep them flight-ready.

Not that it would present too much of a problem. The Cartel now owned two more ships than they had the previous day: the Corxians' freighter and the bounty hunters' ship. She wouldn't release either of those until her salvage crews had stripped them and rebuilt them, but it meant she could release another.

If her worst fears about the snub fighters were realised, she had a means of getting all of the pilots and the fighters off-planet.

She would, however, cross that bridge when she came to it. For the moment, she need only concentrate on wining and dining Imperial Governor Ritaaz Oston.

"You are ready," Lyn announced.

Jenniiya turned, looking at herself in the mirror, adjusting the clasp on her gown to her satisfaction before agreeing, "I am ready…"

Lyn touched the com unit on her ear-piece, listening for a moment before confirming, "Acknowledged."

She turned to Jenn, "The Governor is almost here."

Jenniiya picked up her favourite lip colour, a deep, blood-red, and applied it expertly. Smiling, she stepped back from the mirror. "Should I be descending the stairs to meet him as he walks in? Or should I be waiting in the reception room with a glass of Blue?"

"Stairs," Lyn decided from what she knew of the man. "Give him a flash of those long legs…"

Jenniiya grinned, heading for the door. "Warn the Rebels to keep their heads down before you join us," she told Lyn.

"Of course, Manwah…"

oo0oo

Wedge eased himself into a less uncomfortable position, swearing softly and reaching for the fastenings of the back brace the doctor had insisted he wear.

"Wedge!" Alissha countered, standing and heading over to where the other pilot lay on a mat on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"This thing's restricting!" Wedge argued. "It's digging in!"

"The Doc said you needed to wear it!" Hobbie reminded.

"I can't breathe in it!" Wedge shot back, "It's hurting my ribs…."

"Maybe we could adjust it," Brin suggested, getting up and moving over to take a closer look.

Alissha was gently trying to prevent Wedge from undoing the fastenings. "We should ask the Doctor first…"

"He's not bloody here!" Wedge countered. "And he's not the one who can't bloody breath!"

Hobbie checked the time-piece on the wall. "It's almost time for your meds, buddy. The stuff the doc gave you before is probably wearing off."

"Well, that makes me feel lots better!" Wedge told him, sarcastically.

"We're only trying to help," Alissha tried.

"Well you're not!" Wedge shot back.

"Wedge," Brin warned. "Quit it… That's an order!"

"Give a bloke a taste of power and it goes to his head," Wedge groused but relented in his pursuit of undoing the fastenings.

"At least we know he's on the mend…" Hobbie quipped.

Brin sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look," he offered, kneeling down, "how about we undo the straps until your meds are due? But you don't move, understood?"

"Okay," Wedge agreed, readily.

Alissha looked at Brin with concern, "Do you think we ought to?"

Brin glanced at her then looked back down at Antilles. "Move and I'll strap you back into it myself, understood?"

"Okay, okay!" Wedge grumbled. "I got it!"

Reaching out, Brin released the fastenings on the straps across Wedge's chest. The dark-haired pilot sighed in relief as they slipped off.

Brin frowned and moved Wedge's arm slightly, looking at the slight redness on the parts of Wedge's skin that weren't blue-green-black with bruising. "You might have been right, buddy," Brin accepted. Then he grinned at the other man, quipping, "Lucky bugger. Scars. Chicks dig scars…"

"Oh, please," Lainey derided. "Don't give him any more ammunition! He already thinks he's the Force's gift to women!"

Luke drifted awake to the laughter, banter and familiar voices of the pilots in his squad. He lay for a moment, listening to Wedge's self-assured belief in his ability to romance and bed women, to Lainey and Alissha's skilful putdowns about it not applying to women of taste and discernment, to Hobbie's infectious giggle, to Brin's only-slightly derogatory comments about Wedge letting the side down and not all men thinking like that…

He could almost have fooled himself into believing that he had fallen asleep in the crew room after a mission… except for the pain in his chest and the steady beep-beep of the heart monitor beside the bed.

One particularly big-headed comment from Wedge pulled a chuckle from his throat.

"Luke?" Brin grinned, getting to his feet and moving across to Skywalker, Lainey following. "You're awake!"

"So it would seem," Luke smiled, opening his eyes and turning his head, "How'd it go?"

"Your op?" Lainey asked.

"Tickety-boo," Brin told him, "According to Dr Vezlentz. How are you feeling?"

"Stronger," Luke admitted. "Definitely stronger…"

"Doc says you should be up and about tomorrow," Hobbie put in.

"Unlike Wedge," Alissha countered, glaring at the dark-headed pilot, "who needs to stay flat on his back!"

"Isn't that when he's at his best," Luke quipped, "according to him anyway…"

"Hey!" Wedge shot back, "The ladies like me on top!"

"This lady," another voice said from the doorway, "would take great delight in showing you exactly what you were missing by being on top, Lieutenant Commander…"

The other pilots chuckled, but Wedge turned his head, looking at the petite, dark-haired woman who had just walked in. He grinned, totally unabashed. "Hey, baby! Where have you been all my life?"

"On the other side of the galaxy, apparently," Lyn returned, shooting him a smile and moving across to where Brin and Lainey stood beside Skywalker. "Commander, good to see you awake…"

She turned to Brin, "I am Lyn, personal assistant to the Manwah. I believe you are the officer in command?"

Brin nodded, "For the moment…"

Lyn smiled. "The Manwah bids you greetings and asks that you ensure your pilots remain in the suite for the next few hours and that they stay away from the windows."

Brin quirked an eyebrow, glancing at Luke before assuring her, "I can do that…"

"Trouble?" Luke asked.

"The Manwah," Lyn supplied, "is entertaining the Imperial Governor…"

"Do what?" Alissha asked.

"Is she insane?" Hobbie demanded, jumping to his feet, fear washing through him.

"Shut up!" Brin ordered, keeping his attention on Lyn. "I'm sorry…"

"It was a previous engagement," Lyn explained, "that would have caused questions if it had been cancelled."

"I understand," Brin told her. "We all do," he continued, looking pointedly at the other pilots. "We'll make sure you're not put in any danger…"

"The danger," Lyn told him, "is entirely yours. The Manwah chose to help the Rebel Alliance, but have no misconception; the safety of the Cartel comes far above your well-being. Should it become necessary, the Manwah will hand you over to the Empire: all of you…"

Brin swallowed, looking at Skywalker and the other pilots. If not for the Manwah, Luke would be dead and Wedge and Alissha would be in the hands of the Empire. The Manwah and her people had risked a lot to help them and the Alliance. Now they were drawing the line, clearly stating how far they were prepared to go. Under the circumstances, Brin couldn't blame them. At any other time he would simply have walked away, left the X-wings and found another way off of the planet, but with Luke and Wedge injured, they didn't have that luxury.

Looking back at Lyn, Brin assured her, "We understand."

She nodded, telling him, "I will inform you when the Governor has gone." Turning, she walked towards the door, ignoring the other pilots.

The silence in the room continued for a moment after the door closed behind her. Then Wedge commented softly, "Think I liked it better when she was on the other side of the galaxy…."

oo0oo

Jenniiya walked gracefully down the grand staircase, smiling in welcome as Governor Oston walked into the entrance hall. He was tall and lithe, moving with the grace of an athlete, impeccably turned out. She could tell by the way that he held himself that he was arrogant and sure of himself: attributes that had no-doubt been an asset in getting him to where he was now…

His demeanour clearly showed that there were other, far more important places, he could be. Which meant that he either hadn't done his homework and didn't know the power that the Diazez families held on Gehndaaria, or he was one of those Imperial stalwarts who believed that nothing could supersede the finality of the Emperor's authority.

Dress swirling around her ankles she moved towards him, offering her hand, giving him one of her more dazzling smiles, "Governor Oston, on behalf of the Diazez families, may I welcome you to my home."

His eyes were cold, superior. He took her hand in a limp, moist grasp that made her skin crawl and left her wanting to rub her hand on her dress. "Enchanté," he greeted, although the tone of his voice left her in no doubt that he was very much less than "enchanted" by being here.

Clenching her jaw, she forced a smile. "Dinner will be ready very soon," she told him. "In the meantime, may I offer you an aperitif and some appetisers? Or a tour of the manor, perhaps? This area, where we are now, is over five hundred years old…"

"An aperitif," he told her flatly.

"Of course," she agreed, not moving, waiting for him to offer her his arm.

Eyes roving across the foyer, it took him a moment before he realised that she had no intention of moving until he had shown the proper etiquette. Shooting her a small, ungracious smile, he finally offered her his arm.

Smiling graciously, Jenniiya laid her hand on his and guided him across the intricately marbled floor to the reception room. It opened at their approach, revealing a high-ceilinged room, flooded with copper-hued, evening sunlight. Delicately-blossomed shrubs dotted the edge of the room, filling it with their subtle perfume. Intricately-wrought and ancient paintings of Diazez Manwahs looked down from the walls.

Lifting her hand from his arm, Jenniiya indicated the small grouping of luxuriously-padded chairs clustered around a low table in a large window-alcove. "Please," she invited, "Sit."

He strode away from her and she finally wiped her hand on her dress, moving towards the dark-wood sideboard that stretched almost the full length of one wall. "What can I offer you to drink? Sullustin glid-wine? Correllian White?"

"White," he told her bluntly, sitting down and crossing his legs.

She lifted the carafe, moving over to sink gracefully into the chair opposite him, removing the stopper and pouring a measure of White into his glass before pouring one for herself.

The door opened again, a serving droid rolling towards them with a tray of bite-sized, pre-dinner delicacies.

"Was your journey to Gehndaaria a long one, Governor?" Jenniiya asked.

"Not unduly so," he replied, lifting his glass, intoning, "Your health," as the droid set the tray down.

She smiled, graciously, replying, "Your health…" This was going to be a long, boring, difficult dinner…

The droid turned, rolling away.

Governor Ritaaz Oston leant forward, choosing one of the dainty morsels, lifting it and popping it into his mouth. It was, he decided, very good. He chose another one, washing it down with mouthful of the Corellian White.

As the droid rolled out of the door, a petite brunette walked in. She stopped, bowing deeply.

"Governor," Jenniiya began, "may I present my personal assistant, Lyn…"

The Governor placed his glass on the table.

"Your hospitality is very gracious, but I tire of this façade," he announced.

He sat back, clasping his long fingers, giving her a flat look. "I have troops ready to move in on my order. I know about your men being at the hotel last night. I know about the Rebel spies who were removed. I know your people have them."

Quirking an eyebrow, giving her a cold smile, the Governor went on, "I could have done this differently, exerted my authority, but one doesn't wish to be crass."

Jenniiya swore silently. She had no idea how much he knew about the Rebels or how he had even found out about them. She had to tread carefully…

All hope of getting the Rebels off Gehndaaria without any further difficulty had gone. All she could do now was limit the damage and hope that any word that got back to the Diazez Chieftains could be explained away. The bounty hunters' unsanctioned attack had caused this, but it might also save her…

Then something that Governor Oston has just said brought her up short. Looking at him, remembering his words, she realised that he knew enough to be cautious and not to come in with squads of Stormtroopers. He didn't want to risk a full-on encounter and she doubted that it was because he was afraid of causing waves. The man was too arrogant for that…

Was it possible that his people had identified Skywalker?

Meet his cold gaze calmly, she smiled, countering quietly, "Of course one does not wish to be crass… Especially when exerting one's authority might result in the death of the Rebel pilots… Or one Rebel pilot in particular…"

Oston's smile faded slightly. He hadn't expected the woman to immediately admit that she was harbouring the Rebels, let alone counter with an accusation that was so accurate. It threw him slightly. "Then you don't deny it?" he managed.

Jenniiya smiled indulgently, "Governor, why would I deny it?"

She sat back in her chair.

Lyn continued for her, "It is true, the Manwah did not inform you of the presence of the Rebels, but that was more to do with economics than politics."

Jenniiya lifted her aperitif glass, finishing, "Slaves are always a sought-after commodity and no-one will miss Rebel terrorists."

Wondering if he had misinterpreted her initial accusation, Oston laughed: a cold, harsh sound. "You would have gained more by telling us!" he accused. "One of the terrorists is worth far more as a Rebel than as a slave."

"You mean Skywalker," Jenniiya supplied, finishing the liquid, setting her glass back on the table.

Lips tightening into a thin line, realising that the Manwah was far more perceptive than he had initially given her credit for, he confirmed, "I mean Skywalker."

"Unfortunately," Jenniiya told him, "that causes something of a problem..."

Once again believing that he might have the upper hand, Oston gave her a predatory smile. "Really?" he asked. "And why is that?"

"Skywalker is dead," she told him, bluntly.

Oston swallowed, stunned by her blunt answer. His control of the situation evaporated in front of him, anger and fear beginning to flutter in the pit of his stomach.

Jenniiya looked at Lyn, ordering, "Have the bounty hunters brought here. And inform Nabrood his presence is required."

Lyn bowed deeply again before leaving the room.

Bringing his roiling stomach under control, silently thanking that little voice of caution that had counselled him to say nothing to his masters until he had Skywalker in his grasp, Oston found his voice, "How?"

Jenniiya schooled her face into a look of sympathetic understanding. "Now you see why we failed to notify you?"

Selecting a titbit, she continued, "We were, understandably, concerned about reprisals... The bounty hunters who took Antilles and Downhigher used a shockstick. The charge was set too high for human use. Skywalker attempted to prevent them taking the pilots. They discharged the shockstick straight into Skywalker's heart. The Rebel was dead before he hit the floor..."

"You…" Oston began, "You can corroborate this?"

Jenniiya smiled, "The bounty hunters can. They are being brought up now. I am sure that, with your resources, you will obtain any corroboration you require."

Oston considered that for a moment, then asked, "Antilles and… Higher… are they also dead?"

"No," Jenniiya admitted, knowing that she would have no control over what the bounty hunters might tell the Governor and seeing no other way of making Oston believe her. "Antilles is injured. He took a shockstick to the chest and spine. Downhigher was beaten. I assume it made the hunters feel like men…" she finished, eating the titbit.

"So you have three of them?"

"At the moment," Jenniiya supplied, picking up the White and re-filling the glasses, coming to a decision that she detested, but knowing that it was the only way to save the situation. The Governor had been robbed of Skywalker. If she took Antilles from him too, she risked losing all control of the situation.

As much as she wanted to help the Rebel Alliance, the Cartel had to come first. If the Chieftains overthrew her, there would be anarchy. The Empire would simply walk in, take over, and everything generations of her family had fought to build, everything she cared for, would be lost… Her aunts and uncles, her friends, the people who put their trust in her, would be subjugated…

"I can produce two: Wedge Antilles and Haniff-Brin Aksha. The female pilot, I'm afraid, has already been sold as a slave..."

She hated that she was putting an injured man in danger, but there was no other way that she could see…

Skywalker had handed command to Haniff-Brin Aksha and Brin had taken that responsibility seriously, making it clear to Nabrood that he wouldn't leave without the other Rebel pilots. By handing Antilles and Brin over, she could ensure that Skywalker, Hobbie and the two female pilots could be protected. It saddened her that she wasn't going to be able to help them in the way that she had originally envisioned, but circumstances had changed. There was no use denying the existence of the Rebels under her roof: all she could do was ensure a measure of damage control.

"Have Antilles and this Brin Aksha brought here," Oston ordered, "I will take them and the bounty hunters...."

"Governor," Jenniiya purred, leaning forward to allow her dress to gape a little lower, "Please... Let us come to some other understanding? Aksha is a rather delicious specimen of male..." She paused, as if trying to find the right word, finally deciding on, "rebelliousness... I had rather hoped to keep him, for my own household."

She lifted her glass, taking a genteel sip.

"Manwah," Oston returned, voice cold, "By your own admission you are harbouring Rebel terrorists! There is nothing to discuss! They must be questioned!"

"Governor," Jenniiya smiled at him, "Forgive me, I do not explain myself fully… I do not intend that you should be unable to question them... All that I ask is that the questioning is done here and that the Rebels remain once you are finished with them... Well," she corrected, "Brin remains, at least. Antilles is crippled and of no use to me..."

She sighed, "The bounty hunters have much to answer for..."

The door opened to admit Nabrood and Lyn. Nabrood bowed deeply. "Manwah."

"The Rebels," Jenniiya asked, "Can Antilles be moved without further injury?"

Lyn had forewarned Yolan of the situation. He kept his face neutral as he straightened. "I believe the physician has just arrived to examine him again, Manwah..." he stalled.

"Find out," Jenniiya ordered. "Have him and Aksha brought here. Then contact Derwhen, impose upon his good will and request that the woman be returned." She paused then asked, "Has Skywalker's body been disposed of?"

This was not the first time Yolan had had to think on his feet to anticipate what Jenniiya was trying to tell him. Asking if Skywalker's body had been disposed of, implied that she needed him to confirm that it had. She also wanted Downhigher to be unavailable. Taking all of that into consideration, Nabrood told her, ""Regrettably it was incinerated this afternoon. The Alliance regalia was, however, retained..."

"Have that brought here," Jenniiya ordered then continued, "I assume that the Rebels have not yet been informed of Skywalker's death?"

"They have been told nothing, Manwah."

"Leave it that way."

Yolan bowed again, "As you command, Manwah..." He straightened, asking one more question to help clarify the position. "Derwhen will not release the woman easily. It may require considerable..."

"She is Derwhen's property," Jenniiya interrupted. "The Governer will take it up with him directly if he refuses to return her."

Yolan bowed again, moving out of the room. Jenniiya had ensured that Skywalker, Hobbie and the two women were safe from the Imperials. She was already containing the situation.

Lips pressed into a tight line, Yolan headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Briefly, knowing that the Rebels would not give up an injured comrade without a fight, he considered taking back-up with him. Then he decided that going in heavy-handed would only make the Rebels nervous. This was a delicate situation and he couldn't afford for them to try anything heroically stupid.

Ultimately, he could simply use a stun charge on them and have Aksha and Antilles dragged in front of the Governor… but he loathed the idea of that. The Rebels were brave people who deserved all the respect he could afford them. They were fighting for something they believed in. Politics didn't interest Yolan, but he respected anyone with the courage to stand and fight against overwhelming odds, no matter what the cause.

Reaching the floor of the Rebels' suite, he saw that Lyn had obviously also surmised the Rebels might give him trouble. Zren and Barylo were already waiting for him. Nodding to them, he walked quickly along the corridor. Pausing outside the door, he turned to the other men, ordering, "Remain outside until I call for you."

They nodded, moving to wait against the wall. Yolan turned, taking a deep breath… then stepped forward, walking in as the door opened.

His eyes swept the room, coming to rest on Aksha: the Lieutenant that Skywalker had put in command while he was incapacitated; one of the men he was about to hand over to the Imperial Governor.

Brin looked back at him, knowing by the tight expression on his face that something was amiss. Glancing at Luke, he turned his attention back to Nabrood. "What's wrong?"

"They know you are here…"

Alissha swore. Brin swallowed, his stomach churning as fear stabbed through him.

At the table, Hobbie rose slowly to his feet, panic fluttering in chest. He looked from Nabrood to Wedge, lying on the mat on the floor, then past Brin to where Luke lay on the bed, flanked by medical equipment. There was no way they could run, not with the Boss and Wedge injured.

"How much do they know?" Luke asked, not willing to make any decisions or plans until he knew exactly how much trouble they were all in. The Manwah's personal assistant had made the position quite clear: if it was a choice between the Rebels and the Cartel, the Cartel would come first, but things might not be that bad… yet…

"They believe that you are dead, Commander," Nabrood told him. "They know nothing of Hobbie or Lainey… And we have been able to cover for Alissha…"

Brin stood, waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, Brin swore.

Wedge closed his eyes as Nabrood's words sank in, realising what they meant. Cold, hard fear settled in his chest. He felt sick… He tried to keep his breathing steady, to swallow down the rising panic.

A hand touched his shoulder and he opened his eyes, looking up at Nabrood who was now kneeling beside him. "I am sorry, my friend," Nabrood told him. "There was no other way. You were the target of the bounty hunters…"

"There has to be another way!" Brin countered. "He's injured! You can't hand over an injured man!"

"I'll go," Hobbie told Nabrood.

"No," Alissha argued. "It was Wedge and I that the bounty hunters took! Tell them you were wrong! Tell them it's me, not Wedge!"

Wedge held Nabrood's gaze, listening to his friends as they volunteered to go in his place. He was terrified, gut-wrenchingly terrified… but the thought of Alissha or Hobbie being handed over in his place filled him with a dread that made his skin crawl.

"I have a better idea," Brin countered, "Tell them that you couldn't help Wedge! Tell them that he's dead, that I'm the only one you have!"

"Brin," Luke tried.

The dark-haired pilot turned on him, telling him, "You're dead, Boss, so shut up!"

"Brin, please…" Alissha countered.

He turned, looking from her to Hobbie to Lainey. "Luke put me in command!"

Before they had a chance to argue, he turned away, walking across to Nabrood who rose to his feet. "Tell them you couldn't help Wedge," he repeated. "Tell them that, unfortunately, he died. All you have is me…"

Nabrood shook his head, "Regretfully, I cannot. The only thing that stopped the Governor storming the house with troops was the fear that Skywalker would be injured or killed," he explained. "Now that he believes Skywalker to be dead, he will be satisfied with nothing less than Antilles… and you…"

"But," Brin began.

"If the Governor forces a search of the Manwah's house," Nabrood interrupted, "or institutes sanctions against the Cartel in reprisal, it will be seen as a sign of weakness. The Clan Chieftains will rise up. They will depose the Manwah! They will hand you and your men over to the Empire and take the women as slaves! More importantly, they will hand the Manwah over to the Empire."

He looked from Brin to the others, letting the information sink in, continuing, "I am sworn to protect her! I will not allow her to be threatened!"

Stepping back towards the door, he looked around the room, warning, "The Manwah has done you a courtesy by allowing me to explain the situation. She need not have done so. You could simply have been incapacitated, and Aksha and Antilles removed!"

"Which is still an option?" Hobbie accused.

"Which," Nabrood confirmed, "is still an option…"


	8. Chapter 8

Gage kicked Pashra Navreen's knees out from under him, forcing him down onto the floor. Navreen swore succinctly, still struggling against the manacles around his wrist. He was cold, tired, sore and bloody angry. Dengar landed in an unceremonious heap beside him.

"Bounty hunters have such foul mouths," a soft, melodic voice announced.

Pashra stopped struggling, seeing the woman for the first time: seeing, with a sinking heart, the Imperial Officer sitting beside her. A high-ranking Imperial officer…

On the floor beside him, Dengar struggled to his knees.

"Governor," Jenniiya introduced, "these are the bounty hunters..."

Pashra's stomach flipped. _Governor_... _Shit... shit!_

The Imperial rose from the chair, walking towards the two men. "You were involved in an operation at the Dirgelliaa Grand last night."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Pashra kept his mouth shut. Up until now he had had no idea just how badly he had miscalculated when he had tried to cut the Cartel out of op. And now he had no idea what the best course of action was: staying quiet or answering. Beside him, Dengar followed his lead and also stayed silent.

"Who was the target?" the Imperial asked.

Pashra looked up at him, saying nothing.

Anger rising at the men's silence, Oston looked from one bounty hunter to the other. Turning, he caught Pashra a backhanded blow across the face that rocked him sideways. Dengar reacted, but a kick to the kidneys from Gage sent him sprawling onto his side.

Oston wrapped long fingers into Pashra's hair, dragging his head up. "Who," he demanded again, "was the target? Answer now, or answer in the detention cells! It makes no odds to me!"

Pashra looked up at the Imperial Governor realising, finally, that the only chance he or Dengar had of getting out of this was to spill everything he knew. And the quicker he did that, the less pain he and his partner would find themselves in. He threw a quick look at Dengar who was pushing himself back to his knees.

"A Rebel officer," Pashra told the Imperial. "Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles."

Oston let go of the man's hair. "How did you find him?"

Pashra swallowed. "I saw him in the market. I got a tracker on him, followed him back to the hotel. I recognised his face but wasn't sure who he was… Once I knew where he was holed up, I went back to the ship, ran the files…"

"And discovered his identity," Oston concluded, turning and walking back to sit in the chair. "Then mounted an operation to capture him?"

"Without informing the Diazez Cartel," Jenniiya put in. She sighed, shaking her head. "Regrettable…"

Looking at Oston, she reminded him, "All of this could have been so easily avoided. Even now, the Rebels would have been under your authority."

"We reckoned we needed to move quickly," Dengar tried, trading a look with Pashra. "We had no idea how long he or the woman…"

"What happened at the hotel?" Oston cut in. "How did Skywalker die?"

"He walked into the corridor when we were leaving," Pashra began.

"So you reacted on instinct and hit him with a shockstick!" Oston sneered, getting back to his feet.

"There was no time!" Dengar tried. "Others were coming."

"My people," Jenniiya supplied. "The men I had sent to bring the Rebels in."

"And in the heat of the situation you failed to notice the setting on the shockstick," Oston accused, taking a step forward, his voice dangerously quiet. "Failed to see that it was too high. Failed to realise that you had already crippled Antilles. Failed to anticipate that you would kill Skywalker!"

Oston's blow sent Pashra crashing to the floor.

"Your greed and your incompetence may well have cost you your lives!" Oston warned them. "The Empire has a particular interest in the Rebel terrorist you killed! They will not take kindly to the news of his death!"

The doors opened.

Oston looked up. A tall, dark-haired man walked in, followed by the Cartel goon, Nabrood. The dark-haired man stopped dead, taking in the scene. For a moment, Oston thought the man was actually going to run. Instead, he turned, looking at Nabrood, who drew his sidearm.

Jenniiya rose to her feet. "Governor Oston, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Haniff-Brin Aksha of the Rebel Alliance Forces."

The fear that washed across the Rebel's face was almost gratifying. The man stepped forward, towards Jenniiya , accusing, "You said you would help us, you bitch!"

Oston almost laughed as Nabrood moved. The Cartel goon brought the butt of his sidearm down on Aksha's back, between his shoulder-blades. As the Rebel stumbled forward, Nabrood caught him, forcing him to his knees, catching his head in an arm-lock and shoving the muzzle of the weapon against his jaw.

Jenniiya quirked an eyebrow. Walking across to him, looking down at him, she told him simply, "I lied…"

She looked at Gage, nodding towards Aksha. The security man stepped across the two bounty hunters, pulling a set of binders from his pocket. Grasping the Rebel's arms, he secured them behind his back then straightened and moved back to his place on the other side of the bounty hunters.

Nabrood let Brin go, stepping back, resting the muzzle of the blaster against the back of his head.

"One more question, Manwah," Oston asked, turning to look at her. "How did you know the bounty hunters were going for the Rebels?"

Jenniiya smiled, "There is very little that happens, especially in the capitol city, that the Diazez clans are unaware of, Governor."

"In this particular case," Lyn supplied, "they made the mistake of engaging the services of a street urchin to put a tracking device on Downhigher's jacket. Unfortunately for the hunters, she also followed them. When she returned to the shelter, she told the house-mother… who told us…"

The door opened again, Zren and Barylo all-but-carrying another dark-haired figure into the room.

Oston took in the sight of the young man. He was trying to walk, but he couldn't quite get his legs to work properly. There was some sort of strapping across his chest, but it didn't hide the ugly bruising, or the stark, white dressing that obviously covered a wound.

The trio stopped beside Nabrood and Oston walked across to them to inspect the Rebel terrorist more closely. The Manwah had been correct: he had most certainly been hit by a brutal weapon. The bruising covered most of his chest and Oston moved round to see more of the same on his back, half hidden by the strapping of what, he realised now, was a brace of some sort.

He was obviously in difficulty. His breathing was laboured and Oston had no doubt that if the Diazez men let him go, he would be unable to stand. Oston reached out, hooking a finger beneath the Rebel's chin and lifting his head. Dark smudges beneath his eyes stood out against too-pale skin. Small beads of perspiration dusted his forehead.

The Rebel opened his eyes, looking at him.

Wedge had thought that he had steeled himself for the sight of an Imperial uniform, but the breath still caught in his throat, fear washing through him. He forced himself not to react, to keep his breathing calm and even.

Ostel smiled at him, "And this would be Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles…"

"No!" Brin surged to his feet. Nabrood swore, tackling him, bringing him to the ground, all but sitting on him to keep him down as Brin struggled beneath him.

"Leave him alone!" Brin shouted. "He's injured, damn you!"

Gage and Keer moved in, taking hold of Brin, allowing Nabrood to move off of him. Dragging the Rebel up, they held onto him tightly as he fought against them. "Leave him alone!"

The Governor looked from the struggling Aksha to the injured Antilles. Lifting the wounded Rebel's head again, he smiled. "I believe, Manwah, that we may have found exactly the leverage we require to get all the information we want… And I see no reason to delay."

He let Antilles go, turning and drawing himself up to his full height. Walking towards Jenniiya, he told her, "Skywalker's death is regrettable but I concur that it was beyond your control. You have demonstrated your loyalty by delivering Antilles and Aksha, therefore, I agree to your request. The Rebels will remain here, as will the bounty hunters."

He turned to Nabrood, ordering, "Inform the officer in my transport that his presence is required!"

Yolan inclined his head in acknowledgement, looking at Jenniiya.

"I will have Imperial interrogation experts here within the hour," Oston continued. "In the meantime," he went on, offering Jenniiya his arm, "it would be a shame to ruin our delightful dinner. And I believe we have business to discuss of benefit to both the Diazez Clans and the Empire."

Jenniiya smiled graciously, resting her hand on his. Fighting down the small flutter of panic that things were beginning to move too far out of her control, she looked at Nabrood, ordering, "Take them to the cells. And inform the chef that he may serve dinner..."

oo0oo

Lyn watched as Jenniiya guided the Governor past the group of men and out of the door into the foyer. It was supposed to be a business dinner and Lyn knew her presence was going to be required, but she needed to speak to Yolan first.

Jenniiya wasn't going to have a chance to immediately react to what had happened. This wasn't the first time the Manwah had been locked away in meetings when other, important decisions had to be made. On those other occasions, Lyn and Yolan had made the immediate choices, appraising Jenniiya of their decisions when her duties had released her.

Yolan stayed in the room as the bounty hunters and a struggling Aksha were escorted out, followed by Barylo and Keer, carrying Antilles.

Lyn walked over to him, trading looks with him. Walking towards the door, she suggested, quietly, "If we are opening the manor to Imperials, the other Rebels should be moved…"

"Have any of the astromechs droids arrived?" Yolan asked.

As Lyn opened her mouth to reply, Dengar Crale lurched forward, throwing Gage off-balance. He twisted, turning out of Gage's grasp and making a dash for the entrance. Behind him, Pashra Navreen swore, deciding to take a chance himself, shoving his guard sideways and running after Dengar.

Yolan heard the commotion and looked up. Swearing, he stepped forward, drew his sidearm and took aim in one, fluid motion. He fired twice. Dengar and Pashra collapsed one after the other, their momentum sending them forward to slide along the marbled floor before they came to rest in two, crumpled heaps.

Sighing, Yolan holstered his side-arm and walked across to the bounty hunters. He looked down at them as the sound of blaster fire drew more security personnel to the foyer, appearing through doors and from the floors above and below. Shaking his head, Yolan told the unconscious men, "I hope the Imperials do not kill you. I want that pleasure for myself!"

Turning, he ordered, "Get them to the cells!"

As the security people moved in, his eyes locked with Antilles'.

This was not the way things were supposed to have transpired. The whole situation was leaving a sour taste in Yolan's mouth, but there was nothing they could do except control the damage done by the bounty hunters. He watched pain flicker across Antilles' face and moved towards him, pointing at him, ordering, "Get a gravsled for this one!"

Reaching Wedge, keeping his face neutral, he derided quietly, "You should have allowed them to stretcher you down."

Laughing, softly and without humour, Wedge countered, "Lie down in front of an Imperial? Frag that! Besides," he went on, head sinking as if he had suddenly lost all strength, "you forget, I'm about to have a visit from a grand inquisitor…"

Yolan said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Instead he stepped back, telling Barylo and Keer, "Wait for the gravsled."

Then he turned, heading back to Lyn. "Have the astromech droids arrived?"

"We have two," she confirmed.

"Then I'll get them taken to the X-wings," Yolan decided. "Once we know whether or not the fighters are serviceable, we can make decisions about moving the other Rebels…"

He paused then went on, "When is the Doctor due back?"

"When his clinic closes," Lyn supplied. "He works late tonight. I can summon him if necessary…"

Yolan glanced at Antilles, who was being lowered to the floor by Barylo and Keer. "Things will not go well for him under interrogation…"

"Would you rather it was Skywalker?" Lyn asked.

"That," Yolan told her, "is not the point."

"Then what is?" Lyn hissed. "If we fail to play this correctly, it will be you! Or the Manwah!"

Yolan took a deep breath, dragging his gaze away from Antilles, looking at Lyn, "I know…"

"Then check the X-wings," she told him, voice more gentle. "Find out if they can fly. In the meantime I will check what freighters we have in range. If we move the Rebels we must move the X-wings…"

Yolan nodded, laying a hand on her shoulder, "Go with the Manwah. I will deal with the arrangements for the Rebels and the fighters… First, however," he continued with distaste, "I must be message-boy for the Governor…"

He turned, walking towards the manor's main entrance as the unconscious bodies of the bounty hunters were dragged away by his men.

oo0oo

Hobbie paced the floor. "I don't like this… I don't like this at all…"

"So you've said," Lainey protested, sharply, "at least twenty times!"

"And I'll keep saying it," Hobbie shot back, "until someone takes bloody notice!"

"What else were we supposed to do?" Alissha countered, keeping her voice calm and even. "Stop them going? Risk the Manwah handing us all over? Handing Luke over?"

"Wedge is hurt!" Hobbie objected.

"So is Luke," Alissha reminded him.

Grunting in exasperation, Hobbie threw himself into a chair, demanding, "Does nobody else have any problem with this at all?"

"Yes, Hobbie, we do," Lainey told him. "But what else could we do?"

"You heard what Nabrood said," Alissha tried. "If the Manwah doesn't play this right, there could be stormtroopers walking through that door…"

"She chose to help us!" Hobbie shot back. "She knew the risks!"

"The Princess Leia chose to help the Rebel Alliance," Alissha countered, calmly. "She didn't expect Alderaan to be destroyed…"

Hobbie opened his mouth to retort… but stopped short, sinking back against the chair, rubbing his face with his hands.

"None of us like this," Alissha told him. "Do you think I don't want to go down there right now and put a laser bolt in the Governor's head, grab Wedge and Brin and run? My skin crawls thinking about what they could be going through… but marching down there gains us nothing… Unless you have any ideas on how to get out of the manor and get off-planet, because I sure as hells don't… Not without killing Luke, and maybe us in the process."

"They could be killing Wedge," Hobbie objected.

"They could be killing Brin," Lainey pointed out.

"And leaving Wedge alone because he _is_ injured…" Alissha added.

Hobbie shook his head, sighing, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "I think I want to throw up."

"We all do, Hobbie," Alissha empathised. "All of us… but that won't help anything. It won't help Luke, or Wedge, or Brin. We need to keep cool. We need to stay calm and focussed and be ready to go whenever they tell us it's safe to go."

Hobbie refused to look at her, but he nodded, saying nothing. Then he pushed himself to his feet, moving away from them to the other side of the room. Slumping into a chair beside the fire, he stared into the cold ashes in the grate.

Alissha watched him for a moment. Then, unable to bring herself to look at Lainey, she stood up, walking back to check on the sleeping Luke.

oo0oo

Wedge bit back a moan as the two Diazez men lifted him onto the gravsled. The bravado of before was slipping away: disappearing as fast as the feeling in his legs.

_I am sorry, my friend… You were the target of the bounty hunters…_

He wanted to blame them. He wanted to say that this was all the fault of the two bounty hunters: but the little voice of conscience in the back of his head was telling him that it wasn't, that this was his fault: that his was all his fault.

If he had paid more attention in the city, if he had given more thought to making sure he wasn't being followed instead of letting himself be side-tracked by a green shirt and some fancy-coloured pastries, this would never have happened.

He should have been watching. He should have been checking. Now everything had gone to hell, and it was his fault.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_…

Luke had almost died because of him…

Brin was going to be tortured, because of him…

His lack of concentration had compromised everything, because there was no way the Manwah would offer any more help to the Rebel Alliance, not now that he had screwed it all up and put them in danger. It could still get far worse if the Manwah failed to satisfy the Imperial Governor that the Cartel was loyal to the Empire and hadn't been giving aid to the Rebel Alliance…

_The only thing that stopped the Governor storming the house with troops was the fear that Skywalker would be injured…_

Wedge moaned softly again as pain expanded from his spine where the bounty hunters had hit him with the shockstick. He accepted it, breathing through it. It was nothing more than he deserved for the mess he had caused. All he had to do now was somehow convince the Imperials that he was the one with the answers, so that they would leave Brin alone…

Which, he suddenly realised, wouldn't be difficult. With Luke supposedly dead, he was the ranking officer…

The thought calmed him, giving him strength. Closing his eyes, breathing through the expanding pain, he began running through the details of the mission. They had come to Gehndaaria to pick up six T-65 fighters. They had only been given details of the city and the hotel where they were to wait for their contact; and the codeword the contact would use to identify themselves: Organa…

No, not Organa… That Diazez people might already have used that at the hotel… What would the codeword be? _Think! Think, damn it!_

_Princess_… No, too close to Organa…

_Alderaan_… No, too close to Organa again… Think of something different, something completely different… Think!

_Falcon_… _Pheonix_… Pheonix! It was what the Rebel Alliance insignia was based on, after all.

Pheonix…

So, they had only been given the details of the hotel where they were to wait for their contact… They'd been given a three-day window and the codeword their contact would use: phoenix… _Phoenix, phoenix, phoenix, phoenix_….

So what had happened…

They'd been there for a day, their second evening, when the bounty hunters had attacked. They'd taken him and Alissha, leaving Luke and Lain…

No! Luke and Brin… Luke had been sharing the room with Brin. Luke and Brin… Luke and Brin…

_Frag! Frag it!_ That meant they were there for only four X-wings…

No…. wait… Two could be flown remotely…. Stay with six. Less to change… The Alliance could only spare four pilots… Four pilots; six fighters. Four pilots… Luke, Brin, Alisha and himself… Six X-wings…

Another thought struck him and he dragged his eyes open, turning his head to look at the Diazez man who stood at the end of the sled. "Hey," he tried.

The man looked at him. Wedge wasn't sure how much Nabrood had told his men, and there was no guarantee that they would do as he asked, but he had to try. As long as he and Brin had the same story, they might just pull this off. And the only way Wedge could ensure that was if he told Brin what he was going to say.

"Aksha…" Wedge told the man. "Put me in the same cell as Aksha?"

Barylo frowned, wondering if he should agree to the Rebel's request. Then he remembered Nabrood's words about the Rebel pilot being a brave man and that he should be treated with honour. Barylo said nothing, but he nodded consent.

Wedge sighed in relief, closing his eyes, biting his lip against a wash of pain and going back to the story he knew he needed to get right if he had any hope of saving the Manwah and the other Alliance pilots from the Empire.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Brin lifted his head, looking up as the cell door opened and the Imperial officer stepped inside. Hands clasped behind his back, the man stopped, looking from Brin to the other Rebel terrorist lying on the floor of the cell.

"Which one of you is the senior officer?"

"Me!" Brin told him, pushing himself to his feet.

"Brin!" Wedge derided, softly. Fighting down the fear and panic that threatened to overwhelm him, he heaved his eyes open, looking at the other pilot. Then he turned his head to look at the Imperial, "I'm the ranking officer. Lieutenant Commander Antilles…"

The Imperial smiled, "Ah, yes. Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles. We have quite a dossier on you. Which makes you," he continued, looking at Brin, "Lieutenant Haniff-Brin Aksha. Up until today we had no definite information on you at all."

He smiled, coldly, "That, of course, is about to change."

He stepped back, ordering, "Take this one to another cell."

Two stormtroopers moved in, grasping Brin's arms, hustling him out into the corridor. As they moved out, two other stormtroopers stepped in. "String that one up," the officer ordered, then clarified, "By his wrists, not his neck…" before heading out after Aksha.

The agony that ripped through his spine into his legs as they dragged him off the floor was the only thing that stopped Wedge screaming in terror. He concentrated on trying to breath through it, clenching his jaw against it as the troopers tied his wrists then hoisted him, arms above his head. His toes barely touched the ground… not that it made any difference. With so little feeling in his legs he wouldn't have been able to stand up anyway.

The stormtroopers moved out, leaving him alone. He breathed through the pain, eyes closed, running the story through in his head yet again.

"Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles…"

The voice was soft and smugly satisfied. Wedge concentrated on taking one breath then another, on keeping his story straight in his head.

"I have very much been looking forward to this," the voice continued. "Almost as much as I would have liked to have had a little chat with Commander Skywalker…"

Wedge's heart lurched. Panic flared again and he clenched his jaw against it, forcing himself to breath evenly. _Six X-wings, four pilots_…

"Such a shame that he's dead…" A soft hand reached out, tilting his chin up. He opened his eyes, looking at the white-uniformed, Imperial officer. She looked back at him, searching his face. Voice filled with apparent concern, she asked, "They did tell you that he was dead, didn't they?"

When he didn't answer, Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell gave him a look filled with sympathy, assuring him, "I can't give you many guarantees about our time together, Lieutenant Commander, but one thing I can promise you," she went on, "is that I won't lie to you… And Commander Skywalker _is_ dead…"

She searched his face again then supplied, "He was killed by the same weapon that has so badly injured you. The shockstick discharged straight into his heart. He was, I believe, dead before he hit the floor…"

She paused, as if giving him time for the information to sink in. Then she allowed his head to fall, turning and walking away. "Let's start with the basics, shall we?" she suggested. "Why did the Rebel Alliance send you to Gehndaaria?"

Wedge took one breath, then another.

"I imagine it must be incredibly uncomfortable… your injury," Castell commented when he didn't answer. "I'm told that when they brought you here you had no feeling in your legs… that you've suffered nerve damage which is causing you quite a bit of pain."

She walked slowly back towards him, supplying lightly, "Of course that makes my job easier. I don't have to resort to any initial nastiness; I can just let your body do the job for me…"

When he didn't respond, Castell tilted his chin up again. Running her thumb gently across his lips, she speculated, softly, "How long before the pain becomes too much to bear? How long before the damage is irreversible?"

She moved deliberately closer, so close that the cloth of her uniform brushed against his chest. "You're never going to fly again, Lieutenant Commander," she murmured. "You're certainly never going to sit in an X-wing again…"

He tried not to listen to what she was saying, tried to concentrate on the version of events that he and Brin had agreed on… but her words stuck in his mind, sending a small wave of panic through him. For the first time since he had regained consciousness on the bounty hunters' ship he seriously considered the prospect that he might never walk again...

Then another small voice in the back of his head cautioned, morbidly, that he was going to be dead anyway, so it didn't matter… Grotesquely, a soft chuckle bubbled up in his chest, escaping in a sound that was cut off by a moan of pain...

As the agony in his legs receded, it occurred to him that he might, just, be losing his mind… and that thought terrified him, because if he wasn't thinking coherently then he was dangerously close to betraying Hobbie and Lainey… and Luke…

He bit back a moan.

"Why did the Rebel Alliance send you to Gehndaaria, Lieutenant Commander?"

Wedge said nothing, concentrating on the story he knew he had to keep straight in his mind: because if he didn't, everything could be lost.

Sighing at his silence, shaking her head, Castell told him, "There's going to be no spectacular escape, Lieutenant Commander: no heroic rescue. Downhigher has been sold into slavery. Aksha is in the next cell being questioned by my colleague. Skywalker is dead. No-one knows you're here, Lieutenant Commander. Your apparent saviours are, in reality, far from that. You're all alone… and the closest thing you have to a friend, is me…"

She gave him time to consider that then pointed out, "The longer it takes for you to answer, the longer it takes for me to get medical attention for you and the more likely you are to be crippled for life…"

Stepping close to him again, reaching up to glide the palm of her hand down his arm, she asked, "Why won't you let me help you? It's not difficult, not really… Just tell me why the Rebel Alliance sent you and your companions here, to Gehndaaria?"

A slow smile spread across her face, as if she had just realised something and she stepped back. "Ships! Of course! That's the only reason the Rebel Alliance would send pilots! Ships!"

Wedge swallowed, telling himself that it was an obvious conclusion for her to have jumped to. _Six fighters: four pilots…._

"How many ships are you here to collect?" she asked. "Four? Six? Maybe ten? What are they? X-wings?"

When he failed to answer, she smiled, "So, the Rebel Alliance sent you the Gehndaaria to collect X-wings… Do you see how easy that was?"

Wedge didn't react, because he knew he hadn't told her anything. She was drawing him out, trying to bait him, trying to confuse him.

"_Doesn't take much to confuse Antilles… Using a fresher alone confuses Antilles. He never knows how to wash his own back!" _Alissha's voice echoed in his mind.

Castell watched him for a moment then walked back to him, lifting his head again. "Look at me, Lieutenant Commander."

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't react and she slapped him, barking, "Look at me!"

Gasping, he instinctively jerked away from the blow, but the movement stabbed agony through him. He cried out, his breath catching in his chest. She grabbed his jaw, forcing his head round, screaming at him, "LOOK AT ME!"

He dragged his eyes open.

"How many, X-wings?" she yelled, pushing home the advantage while he was off-balance. "How many? Tell me! How many X-wings?"

She slapped him again, the movement driving agony though him. "HOW MANY?"

"Ten," he blurted…

Castell smiled, letting him go, stepping back.

She knew he was lying. It was too soon for him to have broken, even with the injuries he had sustained and the pain he was in. Still, she had learned something. It was a small victory, but it was a beginning. She ran the back of her fingers down his cheek, murmuring, "Good, Lieutenant Commander. Good… So now we can rule out ten…"

oo0oo

With the help of Ingar, his Diazez escort, Hobbie settled the astromech droid into its niche behind the cockpit of the final fighter and set it working its way through a systems check. The daylight had faded completely and, not wanting to draw attention by lighting up the inside of the hangar, he and Ingar were using torches. Sliding off the edge of the X-wing and climbing down the ladder, he made his way back across the hangar to the fourth X-wing, scaling the ladder to the cockpit.

"Okay, little buddy," he told the Artoo unit, swinging his legs over the side and settling himself in the cockpit. "What have you got for me?"

The droid trilled at him, starting to scroll a list of data onto the screen in front of him. He went through it all slowly, checking everything methodically, knowing that if he made a mistake now, it could have devastating effects later when he, and the other pilots, tried to fly the fighters. As with the other three X-wings, the systems appeared to be in perfect, working order… until the check reached the weapons…

Swearing softly, Hobbie shook his head. No matter what the droids tried, the weapons systems simply failed to come online. No guns, no torpedoes, no targeting computer…

The T-65s would fly, but if they came up against the Empire, they wouldn't be able to fight back. Not a problem in itself… but Hobbie hated the thought of not being able to defend himself if they happened to drop out of hyperspace on top of a wing of TIEs or a Star Destroyer: and the way their luck was running lately, that was a definite possibility.

"Is there anything you haven't tried?" he asked the droid. "Anything at all?"

The low, mournful mewl gave him his answer.

"And there's no way you can isolate the problem?"

The droid mewled at him again.

"Damn!"

"Can I assume you have encountered problems with this one also?" Ingar's disembodied voice asked from below.

Hobbie peered over the side of the fighter, telling Ingar's shadow, "Same as the others. Weapons are fragged…" He looked across at the cockpit-glow from the fifth X-wing, "I'm betting the last one will be the same."

"Unfortunately, I concur," Ingar told him. He thought for a moment, then asked, "How long until the checks are completed?"

"I'm almost done in this one," Hobbie supplied. "I don't want to rush it, though."

"I will keep watch," Ingar decided after a moment. "Call me when you are finished…"

"Will do," Hobbie assured him, turning his attention back to the X-wing and the rest of the data.

oo0oo

"So," Oston began again, dabbing delicately at his mouth with a napkin, "when did you suspect the Rebels?"

Jenniiya gave him a gracious smile, "Almost from the moment they arrived."

"A ship matching the description of a known Rebel sympathiser landed in the city two days ago," Lyn supplied, replenishing the Governor's wine glass. "He picked up a legitimate consignment of machine parts," she went on, moving round to fill Jenniiya's glass, "but when the ship left, four of the crew stayed behind: three men and a woman."

"The port officials had already alerted my people…" Jenniiya started to go on.

"Why did you not simply have the ship impounded?" Oston interrupted smoothly.

"He was here on legitimate business," Jenniiya offered, quirking an eyebrow. "If we were to impound every ship that matched the description of Rebel sympathisers, nothing would move in the ports. It is a regrettable fact, but a fact none-the-less…"

When Oston gave her a flat look, she smiled and leant forward, schooling her face into concerned understanding. "Governor, let us be candid with one another… It is unfortunate, but since the Alderaan incident, the Rebel Alliance has been gathering support amongst the ill-informed and malcontented. If we were to impound every suspect ship, it would only lend credence to the absurd rumour that the Rebels present a valid threat to the Empire…"

"And by allowing the unhindered movement of suspect ships," Lyn concluded, "we allow the more unscrupulous to believe that Gehndaaria may be a safe haven: thus giving them enough rope to hang themselves… We saw no point in collecting and delivering the Rebel pilots until we had firm evidence about why they were here…"

"At which point," Jenniiya told him, "we would, of course, have supplied you with information on both the Rebels and the contact they were here to meet, or the consignment they were here to collect…"

Jenniiya risked a quick look at Lyn as Oston picked up his glass and sipped the wine.

This was not how she had planned the meeting to go, but after Oston had announced that he knew the Rebels were under her roof, she had been forced to change her tactics. This line of apparent subservience appeared to be allowing them to manipulate the situation just as well.

If the new Governor believed that the Cartel was working quietly behind the scenes on the Empire's behalf, they would hopefully be left to their own devices. And after the initial coup of the Cartel handing over two Rebels, all it would hopefully cost was a few bits of carefully chosen information, occasionally thrown in the Governor's direction.

"We realise that arresting the Rebels may not have been the best course of action," Lyn commented lightly. "You may have decided that following them would have given far better results…"

"Regrettably, that option has now been lost." Jenniiya sighed, leaning back in the chair. "This is exactly the reason the Diazez Clans insist that all operations here are sanctioned by them…"

Oston placed his glass on the table, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his uniform sleeve. "Manwah," he told her, "you have deceived me and I have very much misjudged you…"

A flutter of dread trembled in Jenniiya's stomach. Wondering if she had allowed the Rebels to distract her and had completely misread the man, she lifted her glass, asking, "How so, Governor?"

"You would have me believe," he told her, "that the power of the Diazez Cartel lies with the Clans and, until now, I was content to believe that. I can see now, however, that you are as bright as you are beautiful, ably aided by your personal assistant."

Looking from Lyn, to Jenniiya, he went on, "The power of the Diazez Cartel lies firmly with you: the Manwah. Nothing is done within the Cartel without your sanction and I have no doubt that you know every single detail of every single transaction and agreement that the Cartel are currently undertaking, and what you don't immediately remember is provided by your assistant..."

Jenniiya smiled, looking at Lyn then Oston. "You are correct," she admitted.

"Then let us dispense with pretence and start discussing business," Oston told her.

oo0oo

Commander Jarod Lekk watched and waited as the Mind Probe drug, thiohexium phenate, coursed through the veins of the Rebel terrorist hanging in front of him. The bruising from the working-over the stormtroopers had given him was already beginning to show, turning his tanned skin an ugly red/black.

The Rebel was having trouble breathing and Lekk suspected that his ribs were cracked, if not broken: all of which was good. The higher the levels of epinephrine in his body, the quicker the mind probe would take effect.

Aksha moaned softly and the Commander stepped forward. "Lieutenant, can you hear me?"

There was a short pause then the Rebel answered, "Yes…"

Lekk smiled, asking, "What is your name?"

Again, a pause, then, "Brin… Lieutenant… Hanniff-Brin Aksha…"

Hands clasped behind his back, Lekk stood directly in front of the Rebel. "What are you doing on Gehndaaria?"

Brin frowned. A little voice in the back of his head was telling him not to say anything; that it was dangerous; that he should stay quiet… but it was difficult to think through the pain and he couldn't remember why it was so important...

"What are you doing on Gehndaaria, Lieutenant?" Lekk pushed.

"…X-wings…"

"How many were you here to collect?"

"Six…"

Instinct screamed at him, pushing panic through him. There was something wrong. There was something dreadfully wrong. Something about six fighters… There was something terribly important that he had to remember about the six fighters…

"How many Rebels were with you?"

_Six… Six fighters… Six_…

"How many Rebels were with you?" the voice asked again, more insistently this time.

_Six_…

Lekk frowned, not immediately pushing the point. Instead he waited, allowing time for the drug to take effect more fully. Finally, he asked again, "Lieutenant Aksha, how many pilots are with you?"

_Pilots… Six…_ Brin took his time forming the word, then told the Imperial, "Four…"

"There are four other pilots with you?" Lekk asked again.

"Me," Brin answered, "Luke… Lissha… Wedge…"

Four pilots in total then, Lekk concluded.

"Who was your contact on Gehndaaria?"

"Don't… don't know…"

"Where were you to meet your contact?"

"Don't… know…"

"How long were you to remain on Gehndaaria?"

"Don't… know…"

Lekk accepted that. Aksha had not been one of the senior officers. It was probable that only Skywalker and Antilles knew that information.

"What was the ship that brought you here, Lieutenant?"

oo0oo

Luke breathed deeply, opening his eyes.

"Good evening, Commander," Vezlentz greeted.

"Doc," Luke smiled. Turning his head, he looked round the room, frowning. "Where are…"

Then he remembered.

"Wedge?" he asked. "Brin?"

The doctor kept his expression neutral, but he couldn't mask the disgust and loathing in his eyes. Luke saw the emotion and swallowed, pushing, "Doc, please? I'm their CO…"

Lips tightening into a thin line, Vezlentz supplied. "Your men are… being questioned. By Imperial Officers… I'm sorry…"

Luke sighed, closing his eyes, fighting down the fear and revulsion that tightened in his chest. "Not your fault, Doc…"

Vezlentz knew that it wasn't, but it didn't mean he liked it any less. "I have requested access to them," he assured the young Rebel Commander.

Luke nodded, saying nothing, not trusting his voice.

"One young lady is asleep in the chair by the fire," Vezlentz told him.

The door opened and Alissha walked in.

Vezlents turned, smiling at her, telling Luke, "The other is here."

"And Hobbie's gone to check the X-wings with the droids they managed to find," Alissha supplied, walking across to Luke and the Doctor.

Luke opened his eyes, looking at her, "Are you guys still leaving tomorrow? Has there been any contact from Command?"

"I don't know," Alissha admitted. "They're not telling us much…"

"There are more important considerations at the moment," Vezlentz interrupted, "such as getting you out of that bed, young man!" He turned to Alissha, "If you would be my able assistant?"

She nodded, "Of course…"

He reached out, tilting her face to better inspect the bruising and swelling. "You're healing well," he told her. "The inflammation should have gone completely in the next few hours."

"Will she be fit enough to fly?" Luke asked.

"Of course!" Vezlentz assured him. "She's fit to fly right now, as long as she doesn't overdo things… Now," he went on, turning back to Luke, "Let me get these monitors and tubes out of the way so that we can get you up and over to a chair. I have a small heart monitor that I want you to wear for a while," he continued, starting to remove the sensors and tubes, "just to be sure, but I've seen no contra-indications from the surgery."

He paused, looking at Luke, "Do not forget, young man, that you must walk before you can run. You will be feeling much stronger, but you will tire quickly. The damage has been repaired, but it will take time for you to return to full strength."

Luke nodded, "I understand, doc. No running."

Vezlentz smiled, "No malingering either! Simply build your strength slowly!"

Content that he had made his point, he went back to removing the medical equipment. "Let's get you on your feet, then."

oo0oo

The Rebel was in trouble. Castell could tell by looking at him, and by the laboured sound of his breathing. He'd said nothing more, not since he'd blurted out the lie about the number of fighters.

In normal circumstances she would know exactly where she stood, exactly how far to push, but she'd had no control over what he had gone through, physically and mentally, in the last thirty-or-so hours. With little to no medical information for him, she knew she was walking a fine line between weakening his defences and killing him.

She was working blind, trusting her instincts and she wasn't willing to continue this for much longer, knowing that she risked his heart failing, or him suffering a stroke. She had ruled out the use of truth drugs for exactly the same reasons, at least until she received a more complete medical background on which to base her decisions.

Sighing softly, she walked back across to him, entreating, "Let me help you, Lieutenant Commander."

She moved in close, almost intimately so, resting a hand gently on his hip. He moaned softly, his breath hitching in his chest.

"Give me something," she implored, keeping her voice low, filling it with concern. "Anything. Just one piece of information… The number of X-wings," she suggested, "the name of your contact or how long you were to remain here; where you were to go if your associate failed to make contact…"

She stepped back a little, lifting his head. She didn't have to give the order this time: he dragged his eyes open to look at her.

"Just give me one thing then I can call for a medic," she promised. "One, simple piece of information… Let me help you…" she pleaded.

He looked at her for a moment, and then he closed his eyes, turning his head out of her grasp.

Fighting down irritation and frustration at his defiance, aware that he had won this round simply because she could no longer take the risk of refusing him medical attention, Castell turned away.

"Tomorrow…"

His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with anguish and pain, as if the word itself was ripping him apart.

Slowly, concerned that he'd say nothing more than just that one word, she turned back, looking at him.

"We were to stay… until… tomorrow…"

Closing her eyes in elation, she allowed herself a small, tight smile. Then she looked at him again, reaching out to run the back of her fingers down his cheek. "Good, Lieutenant Commander," she told him. "Very good."

Pulling a small transmitter from her pocket, she keyed the transmit switch, ordering, "I need a medic in here. Now!"

She walked across to the door, keying it open. The two stormtroopers outside turned. "Take him down," she instructed, indicating Antilles with a nod of her head, stepping back to let them in. "Gently!"

The stormtroopers did as they were told, marching over to Antilles, untying the rope from the wall, carefully lowering the Rebel to the floor. The movement was too much for him. His cry of agony dissolved into a hushed moan as he collapsed completely, unconsciousness dragging him down, releasing him from the pain.

"Stay with him until the medic arrives," Castell ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am," one of them troopers confirmed.

Walking out of the cell, Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell went in search of Lekk to find out what information he had been able to elicit from Aksha. Armed with that information and with some carefully measured drugs, she would easily be able to convince Antilles that he had divulged far more than he actually had. And then she could get down to the real business of finding out who his contact was and where the Rebels were supposed to go once they had taken possession of the X-wings…

She doubted that the Rebel Alliance would be so naïve as to allow their pilots to fly straight back to Rebel lines, but there was always that chance that desperation had made them foolhardy. The sooner she got the information from Antilles, the less time the Rebel Alliance would potentially have to move their base… and in just a few hours, Imperial forces might be afforded the opportunity of informing Mothma or Organa, in person, that their beloved hero of Yavin was dead…

As was their Alliance to Restore the Republic…


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell waited impatiently outside the door to the room where Governor Oston was being wined and dined by the Diazez Cartel Manwah. He would be in his element, she knew. She had been able to tell it from the tone of his voice earlier, when he had spoken to her before she had descended into the depths of the manor for her little chat with the Rebel Lieutenant Commander.

Oston loved wining and dining. He was a social animal, always at home when he was being given the opportunity to impress someone with his family connections, or his money... or this new power that the Governorship had brought to him. Personally, Ljana thought he was a self-important, deprecating piece of slime: but she would never admit that to his face, and she would defend him to any who criticised him... because he had been good for her career.

Without his patronage and guidance, she would never have been in the position she was now. It was he who had quietly spoken in her father's ear about how her beauty could be an asset to those tasked with rooting out the malcontent elements working inside the Empire to try to bring it down. A beautiful woman could find out things more easily than a male counterpart. A beautiful woman could get into places or talk their way out of situations more easily than a male counterpart.

Ten years down the line and Oston had risen to the rank of Governor, while she had become a Lieutenant Colonel in the ISB. It had been inevitable that Oston had requested her as his head of security. The friendship between Ljana's family and Oston's, safeguarded confidentiality and guaranteed against treachery.

Which was how she found herself here, standing outside an intricately carved door, in the ornate foyer of an immense mansion in the capital city of a planet near enough to Coruscant itself for Oston's family to be beaming with pride and self-satisfied glory.

The doors finally opened. A petite, brunette bowed to her, telling her, "The Manwah and Governor Oston will see you now..."

Behind the woman, Oston's laughter confirmed Castell's theory that the Governor was, indeed, enjoying himself immensely.

She followed the brunette into the room, walking up to the table and saluting smartly.

"Ah!" Oston smiled, introducing, "Manwah, may I present Lieutenant Colonel Castell. She is my, very able, head of security."

Jenniiya had recognised the white uniform of an ISB officer. She also knew that this was, in all probability, the person who had been down in the cells with the Rebel pilots, interrogating them. Wondering what those interrogation methods had entailed, and how much the Lieutenant Colonel had been able to get out of them, Jenniiya found a gracious smile, offering, "Will you join us for kaffin, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Thank you, Ma'am," Castell replied, "but my duties require me elsewhere..."

"So what do you have to tell us?" Oston asked her.

Jenniiya braced herself, knowing that everything might just be about to come crashing down around her.

"Had we arrived only two days earlier, Governor," Castell began, "we might not only have captured the four Rebels, but also the freighter _Millennium Falcon_."

Oston turned, giving Jenniiya a look of comradely satisfaction. That was exactly the information she had given to him.

"There were four Rebels," Castell continued, "all pilots, here to collect six Incom T-65 fighters. They were to remain in the hotel until tomorrow, awaiting their contact."

"Six fighters?" Jenniiya echoed. "I'm assuming that it would need a good-sized building or area to house that number. That would draw attention. I have heard no information that would bring me to conclude that the fighters are already here..."

"Then we may have some movement tomorrow," Oston surmised. "Good... good..." He turned back to Castell, "And what other information have you been able to glean from our Rebel friends?"

"Aksha, as anticipated, knows nothing of value except for the location of the Rebel base they left from," Castell supplied. "Antilles is proving to be a little more problematic. As the Manwah indicated, he is badly injured. I've been unable to employ the usual methods. He did, however, confirm how long the Rebels were to remain on Gehndaaria."

"But you will break him?" Oston verified.

"Once I have a more complete medical profile of his condition, and know exactly what I'm working with, it will only be a matter of time," Castell confirmed. "He's already weakened and responding to basic techniques, I just need to know how far I can go."

Oston smiled, "Then I shall leave it in your capable hands, Lieutenant Colonel."

Knowing that she was being dismissed, Castell saluted Oston and the Manwah, then turned smartly and marched towards the door.

Jenniiya watched the Lieutenant Colonel go. Castell was a dangerous woman, one that Jenniiya needed a complete dossier on before she settled any more comfortably into the Head of Security's chair.

Jenniiya knew that Lyn would already be gathering all the information she could, but Jenniiya decided that she needed a more personal insight. Turning to Oston, smiling, she asked, "Your Lieutenant Colonel is a very accomplished, very beautiful woman. How did you find her?"

oo0oo

"Hey, Luke!" Hobbie greeted, walking across the room towards him, "You're up!"

Luke smiled at the other pilot, agreeing, "I'm up." Then he turned his attention to business, asking, "How are the X-wings?"

"They look fine… mostly," Hobbie began. "The droids say that everything is in working order... except... the weapons systems..."

Lainey swore. Alissha groaned. "How bad?" Luke asked. "What's wrong?"

"They won't come online," Hobbie supplied. "Didn't matter what we tried, they just wouldn't power up. There's no guns, no proton torpedoes, no targeting computer."

"But apart from that, they're flyable?" Luke pushed.

Hobbie nodded, handing over a datapad, "Brought all the info back for you and Brin to..." He trailed off, suddenly remembering that Brin and Wedge weren't there. Swallowing, wondering if he really wanted to know, he asked, "Have we heard anything?"

Lainey muttered something under her breath that Hobbie didn't quite catch. Luke shot her a look, telling Hobbie, "We've not heard anything."

"We've not seen anything, let alone heard!" Lainey put in.

"Don't!" Alissha warned, glaring at her.

Ignoring the atmosphere, Hobbie sank to his knees beside Luke's chair. "Everything else is normal, Boss," he told Luke. "We could fly them out right now."

"But with no way to defend ourselves," Luke concluded.

Hobbie nodded, "And with our current run of luck, I'm not sure I want to tempt fate that much..."

"We may have to..." Luke told her.

"It's not safe!" Hobbie pointed out.

"It's not safe here!" Luke countered. "So keep your mouth shut unless you have something more constructive to say!" Then he pulled rank as Hobbie opened his mouth to protest. "That's an order!"

Sighing, Luke relented, telling the pilots, "Look, I know this is tough, just sitting here, not knowing what's going on with Wedge and Brin… but we're not going to do them any good by arguing amongst ourselves. We have to trust the Manwah and her people. It's our only way of getting out of here: of getting Wedge and Brin out of here."

He looked at each of them, "Good order and conduct, to quote Major Derlin…"

There was a moment's silence. Then Alissha quipped, "If he's quoting Derlin, then we're really in trouble…"

Despite herself, Lainey giggled. Hobbie looked at Skywalker, who rolled his eyes and shrugged.

Smiling, Hobbie nodded, agreeing, "Good order and conduct, Commander. You got it."

"Good order and conduct," Alissha concurred, then apologised, "Sorry, Commander."

"Sorry, Commander," Lainey told him.

"Go on, all of you, get your heads down," Luke told them. "Let me look at this stuff in peace!"

He looked back down at the data from the astromech droids as the pilots did as they were told. He was supposed to make contact with the Alliance tomorrow, to confirm the coordinates for the rendezvous point with the _Falcon_, and agree on a time, unless they responded before that to the message the Cartel had sent warning them that the mission had been compromised.

As much as he hated the thought of flying the X-wings with no way of defending themselves, as long as they knew about the problem, they could work round it. He could apprise Alliance Command of the situation when he contacted them, arrange for other fighters to ride escort for the compromised X-wings.

Or they could make two jumps, rather than three, to the rendezvous. All they would have to do was have a back-up plan should they drop out of hyperspace on top of the Imperial Navy or a squadron of TIEs.

Back-up plan: turn and run.

With his pain meds beginning to wear off and the thought of Wedge and Brin being alone in a cell with an Imperial officer, Luke figured that, right about now, that sounded like a damned good plan.

oo0oo

"Who are you?"

Vezlentz turned at the demand. Looking at the white-uniformed Imperial officer, he retorted, "I'm a doctor looking after his patient!"

"Who gave you the authority to be here?" Castell demanded.

"I gave me the authority," Vezlentz countered, "on the grounds that this young man is under my care!"

"He is an Imperial prisoner," Castell contradicted, "And a Rebel terrorist!"

"He is a wounded human being in need of medical attention," Vezlentz shot back. "And you arguing the point is wasting both my time and yours! He needs to be removed to a Bacta tank," he concluded, bluntly.

"Impossible!" Castell told him.

"I was under the impression that you were trying to elicit information from him," Vezlentz countered smoothly. "I'm intrigued about how you plan to do that if he's dead! Because unless I am allowed to remove him to a Bacta tank, that's exactly what he's going to be! Dead!"

That wasn't entirely true. If Antilles was allowed time to rest and heal, there was no immediate threat to his life. Vezlentz, however, had a fair idea of what this woman had planned for him. Death, he had a feeling, would be a boon.

Castell looked at the doctor, an idea slowly beginning to form. Up until now, she had been concerned with getting hold of all the information Wedge Antilles had about the Rebel Alliance. Now, however, another opportunity was beginning to present itself, a possibility of delivering more than just potentially-outdated information on the Rebel Alliance.

Bacta...

Not the medical compound itself, but the properties it possessed. Isolation...

She wasn't prepared to push too far and risk the Rebel dying. And if she was going to have to wait until his body had healed before she could continue her interrogation, then she could utilise that...

In a Bacta tank, Antilles would be completely isolated from the outside world. Sensory deprivation was the first step in providing Oston with a compliant, repentant Rebel: one he could parade in front of the media in a very public display of admission and denunciation...

Unless he took the opportunity to ingratiate himself even more with the Emperor by handing Antilles over to Palpatine, personally, and allowing the Emperor the honour of exhibiting the Rebel terrorist to the galaxy…

She smiled.

The smile chilled Vezlentz. This, he realised, was not a woman that you would wish to cross. There was a coldness behind her eyes that made him, suddenly, very afraid for the young man lying unconscious on the cot behind him.

He swallowed, deciding that discretion was, perhaps, the better part of valour. He opened his mouth to suggest that there might be another way to help Antilles heal...

Then he frowned, completely thrown by the Imperial's sudden change in tone and manner as she told him, "It will be arranged. Now," she went on, looking past him to the dark-haired Rebel lying on the cot, "I require an in-depth medical report on this terrorist. Have it ready by the time I return."

Vezlentz started to protest, but she turned sharply, walking back out of the cell, the door slicing closed, leaving him alone with Antilles.

oo0oo

Yolan sat in the semi-darkness of the security office, pouring over the data on the displays in front of him. The Incom fighters were flight-ready, but not battle-ready.

They could push the Gribbs brothers for information, but that would take time: time they didn't really have. Now that the Imperials knew about the X-wings, it would be safer for everyone involved to load the fighters onto another ship and fly them out that way. That would also give them an opportunity to get Skywalker out at the same time as Hobbie and the two women...

All that Yolan needed to find was a freighter with a big enough hold for six X-wings: and that was proving problematic. Time and again, he found himself coming back to the Gribbs' ship...

The Diazez engineers hadn't had a chance to strip the ship down, however, and Yolan knew that Jenniiya would be loathed to utilise it until she was sure it was safe for her people to use. Would she be as reticent if it was the Rebels flying it?

Sighing, rubbing his face with his hands, he sat back.

"ISB has asked for an audience with Oston, Boss..."

Yolan turned, looking at the security monitor seeing the Lieutenant Colonel waiting in the foyer outside the reception room. "Another one?"

"Yes, Boss."

The second Imperial interrogator had already gone. He had left during Castell's previous audience with the Governor and Jenniiya. Yolan pushed himself to his feet.

"Inform me when she's returning to the cells!" he ordered, heading out of the security centre.

He raced down the steps to the lower areas and the detention cells, making his way down the corridor towards the cells where the Rebels were being held. Four stormtroopers guarded the two cells. The ones outside Antilles' cell looked at him, but didn't prevent him from going in.

Vezlentz looked up as the door opened, visibly relaxing when he recognised Nabrood.

"How is he?" Yolan asked as the door closed behind him.

"I'm worried about the nerve damage. And there's more tissue damage from the swelling…" Vezlentz supplied. "Our friendly ISB officer has agreed to let me put him in a Bacta tank..."

Yolan frowned at the tone in Vezlentz' voice, walking across the cell towards him. "You don't sound too pleased about that."

The Doctor straightened, turning back to look at Yolan. "The woman has ice-water in her veins!" he told Nabrood. "I don't trust her. She is not the sort to agree to help this young man, not without some ulterior motive!"

Yolan considered that for a long moment then asked, "How is the other Rebel?"

"They beat him!" Vezlentz snapped. "They broke his ribs!"

"Is he healing?" Yolan asked, countering Vezlentz' emotion with measured calm.

The doctor sighed, "Yes… his bones are knitting… but they most probably used thiohexium on him…"

"Thio what?"

"Thiohexium phenate," Vezlentz repeated then explained, "Known to Imperial officers as the Mind Probe. It combines with the epinephrine in the human body. That's why they beat him. It inhibits certain receptors in the brain, makes you more susceptible to answering questions. One of the side-effects, however, is nausea. He should be given nothing to eat until the drug wears off. The retching might crack his healing ribs…"

"I'll have someone monitor him," Yolan told him then asked, "Did she beat Antilles? Use this Thio stuff?"

"It doesn't appear so," Vezlentz answered. "No doubt she was afraid of inadvertently killing him. She's looking for a medical dossier on him…"

Yolan considered that for a moment. "Thank you," he told the doctor, turning and heading out of the cell, ignoring the stormtroopers. Pressing the PTT switch on his earpiece as he walked towards Aksha's cell, he called, "Gage?"

There was a short silence, then, "Here, Boss."

"The Doc needs Aksha watched," Yolan told him. "Something to do with the drugs they gave him."

"I'll get it sorted, Boss," Gage assured him.

Yolan walked passed the stormtroopers into Aksha's cell, moving across to where the Rebel sat slumped against a wall. He dropped to his knees, resting a hand on Brin's shoulder. The Rebel flinched away from the touch, dragging his eyes open to look at Yolan.

Nabrood smiled at him, asking, "How goes it?"

"Crap," Brin supplied, forming the word slowly, as if he had to concentrate hard to find it. "What… what did I… tell them…?"

"Only what you had to, my friend." Yolan supplied. "Only what you had to."

Brin's head dropped then came back up again. "Wedge?" he asked.

"The physician is with him," Yolan assured him. "He says you may feel sick, because of the drug. I have arranged for someone to stay with you. They will be here shortly."

oo0oo

Oston smiled at Castell as she was shown into the room. The Lieutenant Colonel nodded in respect to Jenniiya then turned to the Oston, telling him, "My apologies, Governor, but an urgent matter has arisen which, unfortunately, requires your immediate attention."

Had anyone else tried to draw him away from this meeting, and Oston would have flatly refused to leave, sending them away. Castell, however, was a different matter. Uncrossing his legs, rising to his feet, he turned to Jenniiya, sighing theatrically. "Manwah, I regret," he apologised, bowing, "The responsibilities of my position, you understand."

Standing, wondering if the urgent matter was the fact the she had killed Antilles, Jenniiya assured, "I do indeed, Governor Oston. We must be ever vigilant."

She offered her arm, as etiquette demanded, escorting him out of the room, leaving Castell and Lyn to follow. "It has been a pleasure, Governor."

Oston smiled, "Indeed, it has. You must allow me to return the compliment, to conclude these talks. Lunch, perhaps? Have your lovely assistant arrange it."

"I shall, Governor," she smiled, withdrawing her arm as they reached the foyer. "Good night."

She looked past him to Castell, "Good night, Lieutenant Colonel."

Castell nodded in acknowledgement, following Oston to the door and out into the night.

Jenniiya's smile faded. She shuddered, telling Lyn softly. "I need a long soak in a hot tub to get rid of that man's slime... See how badly the Rebels are injured and what they have told Castell and her people," she went on. "Find out how badly we're undone. I'll be in my rooms…"

oo0oo

Castell settled into the shuttle opposite Oston, telling him, "We have been presented with an opportunity, Governor."

He crossed his legs, clasping his hands and quirking an eyebrow, "Indeed?"

"Lieutenant Commander Antilles," Castell supplied. "He will need medical attention before I can continue his interrogation. The physician believes he's badly enough injured to warrant the use of Bacta. And if we must employ a tank, I propose we put it to good use…"

"Go on," Oston told her.

"The tank can double as a perceptual isolation tank," she continued. "I believe I can not only break Antilles, but modify him…"

Oston frowned, fighting back a small flash of irritation, "Modify him? Lieutenant Colonel, I am not a stupid man, but I am not practiced enough in your art to understand your jargon!"

"Forgive me, Governor," Castell apologised. "In plain language, I believe I can not only break Antilles but turn him: persuade him of the error of his ways and deliver him to you, ready to confess his crimes against the Empire and denounce the Rebel Alliance."

Oston quirked an eyebrow, considering the merit of what she was suggesting. "And," he began finally, "why would that interest me?"

Castell smiled. "Antilles is wanted for a number of crimes, Governor, most notably for his involvement in the destruction of the Death Star at Yavin… along with Skywalker…"

A slow smile pulled itself across Oston's face as he realised what Castell was suggesting. "And a 'hero' of Yavin not only announcing the demise of Skywalker, but also denouncing the Rebel politics would somewhat dent their spirits…"

Castell waited for a moment then dropped her gaze, suggesting, "The Emperor might also be pleased by that thought…"

Making a small sound of disgust, Oston corrected, "More importantly it might temper his displeasure about Skywalker's untimely death at the hands of those incompetent bounty hunters!" He smiled, coldly. "Perhaps I should give them to him also…"

He shook his head, decision made. "Do whatever it takes, Ljana," he ordered. "Break Antilles, turn him, and then bring him to me."

"And the other man?" Castell asked. "Aksha?"

"Get what you can from him, then leave him for the Manwah," he told her. "A gesture of good will. We can always return for him, should the Emperor desire his presence. And forget about the Downhigher woman," he went on, "unless you believe that she will be useful."

Castell shook her head, "Downhigher is of no tactical importance."

"Then she can remain another, nameless, dead Rebel…"

"Another gesture of good will?" Castell ventured, quashing the small smile that threatened on her lips.

"You know as well as I do," Oston reminded her, "how much sway the Diazez Cartell holds here. I am not so naive as not to realise that my Governorship will run far more smoothly with the Manwah and her people on board…"

And this close to Coruscant, Castell knew, any rumours of dissent would reach the Emperor almost as soon as they reached Oston. It was only concern about inviting Palpatine's scrutiny so soon after taking up his position of Governor that had stopped Oston storming the Manwah's manor to find the Rebels: a decision he was more than happy about, now that he had radically reassessed his impression of the Manwah and the Cartel.

"Break Antilles," Oston told her again, "turn him… and leave the politics to me."

Castell nodded, acknowledging, "Yes Sir."

oo0oo

Yolan stood beside Lyn as she pressed the call-button outside Jenniiya's door. The door slid back, admitting them and they stepped through. Jenniiya had already showered and was towelling the moisture out of her hair.

"Damage?" she asked.

"Very little," Yolan told her. "Antilles and Aksha have resolved on a plan to tell only part of the truth..."

Jenniiya looked at him. "What?"

Yolan gave her a small, cold smile. "Interrogation is an imprecise science," he told her. "You can never be sure if the subject is telling you the truth or simply telling you what they think you want to hear. In this case, Antilles has concocted a story to feed ISB: half lies, half truth, easily remembered. He and Aksha agreed on it in the cell waiting for the Imperials to arrive. Even under drugs, Aksha remembered the fabrication."

"Which is?"

"Four pilots collecting six X-wings," Yolan supplied. "And the contact would identify themselves as Phoenix, not Organa… That was all they discussed. It was all Aksha needed to know. I brought you the recordings to review," Yolan finished, putting a datachip on the table.

"That's all very well," Lyn pointed out, "but what do we do if they start asking other questions that implicate the Cartel? Or if the Rebels break completely and start telling the truth?"

"Then we dispose of them," Jenniiya announced.

Nabrood looked at her. "The Rebels?"

"And the Imperials," Jenniiya told him.

"Manwah," Lyn cautioned.

"We are recording the interrogations," Jenniiya began. "If Antilles or Aksha implicate us, we dispose of them and the Imperials. Then we alter the recordings. As far as Governor Oston will be concerned, we gave his Lieutenant Colonel permission to remove the Rebels to the Imperial detention cells. We cannot be held responsible if their transport disappears between here and there. We will, of course, offer Oston the recordings to peruse."

"And what do we tell Skywalker?" Yolan asked.

"That regrettably, they died under Imperial questioning."

It wasn't what she had wanted. None of this was what she had wanted. Giving six Incom fighters to the Rebel Alliance had seemed so simple that she had gone against the explicit wishes of the Chieftain Council. And now, because of that decision, courageous, brave people might have to die… but she was the Diazez Manwah and her primary concern had to be the Cartel.

It was something she should have remembered when she decided to buy the X-wings. It was something that she would not make the mistake of forgetting again.


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

Jenniiya groaned, reaching out to bat at the alarm. Then she realised it wasn't the alarm, but the chime of the call-alert. Sitting up, checking her timepiece and seeing that it was still very early, she pressed the call button, asking, "What is it?"

"Manwah," the voice told her, "Chieftain Derwhen of the Kenwa has just arrived."

Jenniya slumped back against the bed, sighing softly. "Have him shown into the reception room," she ordered. "And arrange kaffin and pastries…"

"It will be done, Manwah."

Derwhen was here, she had no doubt, because Yolan had contacted him about Downhigher supposedly having been sold to him. Her father's closest friend and the only person, apart from Yolan and Lyn, that she trusted enough to turn to for advice, Derwhen had spoiled her as a child and given her good counsel on many occasions.

If he was here, in person, rather than simply contacting her by holo-vid, it meant he was concerned. Not surprising considering the information about Downhigher arriving so soon after the arrival of Imperial Governor Oston.

Getting up, she chose a gift from Derwhen: a long, black, silken robe with intricate red embroidery. She pulled it on, fastening the belt before brushing her hair, leaving it to fall down her back.

Checking her reflection in the mirror, she turned and headed for the door, making her way down to the foyer.

oo0oo

Castell watched the read-outs on the display as the droid introduced the final elements into the Bacta. In a few moments, Antilles would regain consciousness, the Bacta having done its work on the swollen tissue and nerve damage caused by the bounty hunters' shockstick.

The Bacta tank had been delivered and ready to use before Oston had finished his business meeting with the Manwah. Antilles had been in the tank for just over three hours now. Outside, night would slowly be giving way to the lightening sky of the approaching sunrise. Here, in the bowels of the Manwah's manor, it was dark and cold: cold enough for Castell to see her breath.

Just as she wanted it… The cold air would jolt Antilles after the warmth of the bacta tank, keeping him off-balance.

She was about to make him believe that he had been here longer than he actually had: a whole day longer, in the hope that he would more easily divulge some information about the contact the pilots had been waiting on.

The droid rolled back, announcing, "The subject is regaining consciousness."

"We'll wait for a few moments," Castell told Lekk and Sondu, "allow him to become aware, before taking him out…"

Both men nodded acknowledgement and Castell turned her attention to the readout screen on the Bacta tank, watching the indications.

Wedge surfaced slowly into a quiet, dark world. He was warm and comfortable. Reticent to move, he lay still. The alarm hadn't gone off yet, so he must have woken early…

He smiled, relishing the thought of another few minutes in bed before he had to get up for…

For what?

_Give me something. Anything. Just one piece of information._

A flurry of panic fluttered in his belly as memories started flooding in: the hotel, the bounty hunters, the ISB officer…

Terror pulsing through him, he tried to move, but his arms were secured to his side, his legs bound together. There was something strapped to his face…

Strong hands caught him, lifting him. He tried to fight them, writhing and twisting, desperate to get free. A rush of cold air swept across him and he gasped, still fighting. The mask was pulled off his eyes, the sudden light blinding him.

"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Stop now or I'll stop you with a shockstick!"

Self-preservation screamed at him, overriding the fear. He stopped struggling, peering at the female ISB officer as the men holding him set him down on his feet.

Castell smiled at him, "Good, Lieutenant Commander. Very good."

She turned away, continuing, "I imagine it must be quite a shock to the system, coming out of a nice, warm Bacta tank into this cold air…"

So that's why he was so bloody cold, Wedge realised, and why he wasn't hurting…

Another thought hit him, driving a wave of panic through him. _Why would Imperials waste Bacta on a Rebel?_

Castell turned back as Lekk removed Antilles' respiration mask. The Rebel was beginning to shiver, his wet pants clinging to his legs. "Let's take a moment to consolidate everything you've told me so far," she began, walking back towards him. "You arrived on the _Millennium Falcon_ three days ago to collect six X-wings."

He tried to hide it, but she saw the emotion that washed, quickly, across his face. She smiled. "You do remember telling me that, don't you?"

Wedge didn't. He didn't remember telling her any of it. He tried to convince himself that she was tricking him, that she was playing him… but how else could she have known…

Maybe Brin…

Guilt and anger flared at the thought of Brin suffering at the hands of this woman. It was his fault. This was his fault. This was all his fault.

"You were to remain on Gehndaaria until yesterday," Castell went on, "waiting for your contact… How was your contact supposed to identify themselves to you? Where were you to meet them? How were you to obtain your rendezvous point to get back to Rebel lines?"

When he failed to respond, Castell nodded to Lekk and Sondu. The two officers removed the straps securing Antilles's arms to his body, then they dragged him back, securing a chain around his wrists, hoisting him into the air.

"How was your contact on Gehndaaria supposed to identify themselves to you?" Castell repeated.

Wedge stayed silent, bracing himself for whatever punishment was to come. The chain bit into his wrists, and he knew it wouldn't be long before the muscles in his arms and shoulders started to protest... but it was what Brin had had to go through...

"Where were you to meet your contact?"

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the lies that he knew he had to get right when the pain finally got too much... or when they resorted to drugs...

_Pheonix_... _Pheonix was to come to them..._ _Pheonix was to supply them with the rendezvous point... For four pilots and six fighters_...

Fire ripped along his nerves. The shock of it forced a scream from his throat. He bit down on it, clenching his jaw against the pain, trying to breathe.

Castell lifted the shockstick away from Antilles' spine, walking around his trembling body to stand in front of him. "How was your contact supposed to identify themselves to you, Lieutenant Commander?"

Heaving air into his lungs, the agony receding, Wedge ignored her._ Four pilots; six X-wings; Pheonix; Pheonix was to come to them_...

Castell sighed softly. "Your continued defiance," she warned, "does nothing but bring you more pain, Lieutenant Commander. You and I both know that you will give me the information I require. You have already given me the information I needed from our last session. Answer the questions now and I need not resort to more... convincing methods..."

When he stayed silent, she hefted the shockstick, jabbing the end into his side.

Wedge screamed, convulsing. His blood pounded in his ears, darkness pressing in from the edge of his consciousness... Then the breath was rushing back into his lungs, the darkness evaporating, the pain fading: but less quickly this time.

"How was your contact supposed to identify themselves to you?"

_Phoenix... Phoenix was to come to them_... _Gods, Brin, is this what I put you through?_

His oversight. His error. His lack of attention. He had caused this.

The pain exploded again, driving coherent thought from his mind. The darkness pressed in, tantalising him, before evaporating back into pain. He heard someone whimpering: and knew it was him.

"How were you to obtain the rendezvous point for your return to Rebel lines?"

When Antilles remained stubbornly silent, Castell shook her head, warning, "You leave me with little choice, Lieutenant Commander..."

She turned, motioning towards Antilles with a wave of her hand. From the corner of the cell, the black, spherical shadow of an interrogation droid hummed into life, lifting slowly into the air.

Lifting Antilles' head, Castell ordered, "Look at me, Lieutenant Commander!"

When he didn't respond, she slapped his face, barking, "Look at me!"

He dragged his eyes open, his gaze locking with hers.

"Last chance, Lieutenant Commander!" she yelled. "Tell me how you were to obtain the rendezvous point for your return to Rebel lines! Tell me! Or that," she continued, pointing behind her, "will make you tell me!"

She watched his gaze slide to the droid behind her, watched his eyes go wide as it hovered slowly closer.

"Tell me!"

Terrified, Wedge stared at the long-needled syringe. The words started forming in his mind, pushing down towards his mouth...

And then he remembered Brin...

Is this what they had done to Brin because of him? Had Brin had to endure the same treatment because of him? Was this even anything akin to the pain Luke had endured when the shockstick had discharged into his heart?

A sudden calm settled over Wedge, flowing down through his body, replacing terrified incomprehension with clarity. Dragging his eyes away from the interrogation droid, he looked back at the female Imperial Officer, telling her softly, "Antilles. Wedge. Lieutenant Commander..."

Castell quirked an eyebrow, but she had, in truth, expected nothing less of the Rebel. Nodding, she stepped back, telling him, "So be it."

The droid moved in, finding an appropriate vein in the Rebel's arm and emptying the full measure of thiohexium phenate. Wedge gasped softly, feeling the cold liquid flowing into his arm. He dropped his head, the strength of before deserting him.

_Four pilots; six X-wings; Phoenix_...

The droid slid the needle back out of the Rebel's arm, moving slowly away. Castell nodded to Lekk, who flexed his fingers, curled them into a fist... and drove it into the Rebel's belly.

oo0oo

Barylo was waiting for Jenniiya at the bottom of the stairs as she reached the foyer. He bowed deeply as he saw her, telling her, "Manwah, Chieftain Derwhen has been shown to the reception room. The ISB officers have returned and are currently with Antilles..."

Jenniiya swore softly.

"They have only just removed him from the Bacta tank," Barylo supplied.

Jenniiya nodded, telling him, "Thank you."

He bowed, turning away as she moved towards the doors of the reception room.

Jenniiya couldn't help but smile as she walked across the floor towards the older man sitting in the same chair that Governor Oston had earlier occupied. This visitor, however, was far more welcome than the slimy, unctuous, Imperial Governor.

"Uncle," she greeted, warmly.

Derwhen Kenwa crossed his arms and gave her a flat look: the only man who would ever be forgiven for not rising to his feet and bowing deeply in the required respect for the Diazez Manwah... in private, at least.

In public, Derwhen would never be anything other than the Kenwa Chieftain. In private, however, he was Jenniiya's favourite Uncle, a man who had earned that right by loving her as a daughter and by the guidance he had offered her since succession to the head of the Diazez Cartel. His guidance, on more than a few occasions, had been invaluable.

"Jenniiya," he greeted, the hard tone of his voice belied by the laughter in his eyes, "What situation have you managed to get yourself into now?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, innocently.

"I mean a cryptic message," he told her as she sank to her knees beside him, "from the rather dashing Nabrood of yours, about a slave I know nothing about!"

"Oh," she tried.

"Indeed," he countered, "Oh!" Then he admonished, "You are going to miss that man if anything happens to him! You should be grooming another to take his place! It is the same for the lovely Lyn too!"

"Uncle," she assured him with a smile, "Everything is in place. Do not fret!"

"Fret?" he shot back, "Fret? And, pray tell me, how is an old man to prevent such fretting when he receives cryptic clues about slaves and Imperial nosing-around?"

"You," she admonished, "are far from old..."

"And you," he countered gently, "have too much of your mother in you!"

Resting a gentle hand on hers, he asked, "What is going on Jenniiya? I am concerned for you."

Jenniiya sighed, dropping her forehead onto his hand. "The fates," she admitted, "have conspired against me..."

He laughed softly, resting his free hand on her head, telling her, "Even the Jedi could not bend the Fates to their will, daughter. What hope have we?"

Leaning down to kiss her hair, he asked, "What is going on, little one?"

Jenniiya lifted her head, looking up at him. Then, as the door chimed, she rose to her feet, ordering, "Come!"

A serving droid walked into the room, carrying a tray of kaffin and bakes. Settling herself into the chair opposite Derwhen, Jenniiya waited until then droid had placed the tray on the table and retreated out of the door before beginning,, "My father always told me to rule the Diazez clans with my head and not with my heart, that every decision I made should be for the good of the clans and based on nothing else..."

"And you have failed in this," Derwhen surmised, reaching for the kaffin pot.

"I attempted to provide... weaponry... to the Rebel Alliance..."

Derwhen looked at her, aghast, for a long moment. Then he began to laugh.

"Uncle," Jenniiya assured him, "it is no laughing matter... Fate has conspired to undo me!"

Curbing the laughter, managing to school his face into a look of reassurance, he asked Jenniiya, "Tell me what has transpired, little one."

He selected a bake, biting into the sweet creaminess of the pastry, munching through it slowly and washing it down with unsweetened kaffin as Jenniiya explained everything that had gone on in the previous two days. Finally, he sat back, considering everything she had just said.

Jenniiya lifted her mug of kaffin, taking a long draw on it.

"The Imperials are here now?" Derwhen asked, finally.

"Yes," Jenniiya confirmed, "They are interrogating Lieutenant Commander Antilles. Barylo is watching everything."

"And the X-wings?"

"Flight ready but the weapons systems are not functioning..." she told him. "You see now why I say that the fates conspire against me..."

Derwhen put his kaffin down, looking at her. "Manwah," he cautioned softly, "You are courting disaster... If the other Chieftains hear any of this..."

"They will not," she assured him. "At least, they will hear nothing about us having tried to help the Rebels..."

"And when they learn that the Governor left troops here?"

Jenniiya sighed, slumping back in her chair, running her hand across her face. "I can only hope they accept that the Imperial soldiers were here at my insistence... to prevent us having to hand our property over to the Empire..."

Derwhen thought for a moment then offered, "I may be able to give some assistance there... Pre-empt the situation... if you will allow me time to consider the options..."

Jenniya smiled, "Thank you, Uncle..."

"The Rebels could be moved to the Kenwa manor," Derwhen suggested.

Jenniiya shook her head, "No, Uncle. I have already placed you in enough danger..."

He looked at her, then relented with a nod of his head, "As you wish, little one..."

oo0oo

"Enough!" Castell ordered, her gaze never leaving the Rebel pilot who hung from the chains. He was still conscious and enough time had passed for the thiohexium to have taken effect. More skilled in their techniques than stormtroopers, Lekk and Sondu hadn't broken any of Antilles' bones.

Lekk and Sondu moved away. Castell moved in, waiting a moment longer before asking, "Lieutenant Commander?"

She watched for a reaction, "Lieutenant Commander Antilles? Can you hear me?"

Antilles swung gently on the chains for a moment then, voice so soft she had to strain to hear it, he answered, "Yes..."

"Lieutenant Commander, tell me how your contact on Gehndaaria was supposed to identify themselves to you?"

There was a short delay, and then the dark-haired Rebel answered, "Phoenix..."

Castell took a step forward. Grasping his jaw, she lifted his head gently, asking, "Is Phoenix your contact's name or codeword?"

Wedge frowned, swallowing before answering, "Just... Phoenix... Meet... Phoenix..."

Castell accepted that answer, knowing that the Rebel Alliance intelligence people might simply have told them to wait around until someone calling themselves _Phoenix_ turned up. She let his head drop, stepping back. "Where were you to meet Phoenix, Lieutenant Commander?" she pushed.

"Phoenix was to come... to... the hotel… "

"You were to wait in the hotel until he contacted you?" Castell clarified.

"Yes..." Antilles answered.

"Good, Lieutenant Commander," she assured him, stepping closer, "Very good. Now," she went on, gently running her hand down his arm and chest, "give me the name of the ship that brought you to Gehndaaria!"

There was a slight pause, as if the question had somehow thrown him then, finally, he answered, "Millennium Falcon..."

"How many fighters were you here to collect?"

"Six..." he told her. "Six fighters..."

_Four pilots…_

"Where is the rendezvous point for your return to Rebel lines?"

There was another pause before Antilles answered, "Phoenix... Get it from Phoenix..."

Castell traded a look with Lekk then asked, "How were you to return to the Rebel Alliance if Phoenix did not contact you?"

Self-preservation fought with loyalty to the Rebel Alliance as the thiohexium damped Wedge's reflexes and fogged his reasoning. He struggled against the drug that coursed through him, clenching his jaw to stop the words tumbling out. _He couldn't tell... He couldn't tell... he couldn't tell_…

"How were you to return to the Rebel Alliance if Phoenix did not contact you?" Castell repeated.

When Antilles remained silent, Castell nodded to Lekk, who lifted the shockstick, pushing it against the Rebel's spine.

The scream clogged in Wedge's throat as agony tore through him, his body convulsing against the chains.

Lekk pulled the shockstick away. Castell stepped in, slapping Antilles hard across the face, barking, "How were you to return to Rebel lines?"

In the aftermath of the agony and under the influence of the mind probe, Wedge was lost. "Contact," he choked, the words spilling out before the fog in his mind allowed him to recognise that he'd said anything at all. "Contact them…"

Castell allowed herself a small smile, sensing the subtle change in his voice, knowing that she had finally broken him. He would tell her anything she wanted to know now…

"How were you to contact the Rebel Alliance?" she demanded.

"Frequency…" he supplied. "Send a message… Wait for someone to come…"

"And how would they identify themselves?"

Incredibly, there was a slight pause before he answered and, with a flash of irritation, Castell reconsidered her assumption that she had totally broken the man.

"We'll know them…" he told her, finally.

Castell's brow furrowed in thought as she considered the answer he had just given her. Then, eyes going wide in realisation, she glanced at Lekk before looking back at Antilles. "Lieutenant Commander, was the _Millennium Falcon_ to return for you if Phoenix did not contact you?"

The soft sound of dismay that Antilles made was all the answer she needed.

"How long were you to wait until contacting the Rebel Alliance?" she demanded.

He shook his head, struggling to stay silent, but another charge from the shockstick pushed the words out of him.

"Nightfall…"

Stepping back, Castell's mind ran through all the possibilities contained in the information Antilles had just provided. She checked her timepiece. Nineteen hours until nightfall… Nineteen hours until Antilles was supposed to contact Rebel command to inform them that Phoenix had not shown.

Castell had planned simply to break Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles, manipulate him into confessing his transgressions; allow Oston to hand him over to the Emperor to be paraded in front of the media in a public exhibition of admission, acknowledgement and denunciation. Now, however, other potential avenues were opening up.

"Put him back in the tank," she ordered. "And watch him carefully!"

oo0oo

Sinking to his knees before Palpatine's holographic image, the Lord Darth Vader inclined his head, greeting, "Master."

"Old friend," Palpatine began. "I have a task for you…"

Vader lifted his head, looking at the holograph as Palpatine continued, "Governor Oston on Gehndaaria has informed us of two Rebel pilots who have been arrested. One is of particular interest. You will go to Gehndaaria and bring the pilot to me."

Vader fought down the nervous anticipation that flared in the pit of his stomach. There were few Rebel pilots who would warrant an audience with Palpatine. Was it possible that the captured pilot was Skywalker? Was it possible that he would soon be face to face with his son again?

Bringing his emotion tightly under control, Vader acknowledged, "Yes, my Master."

Palpatine paused.

He had given a great deal of thought to how he should deliver this next news to Vader. He was unsure how Vader would react. In all other things he could anticipate Vader's thoughts and actions: in only one area was Vader unpredictable...

Padme Amadala's child…

"I have other news, my friend…"

Vader sensed the subtle difference in his Master's manner. Frowning, disturbed by the change in demeanour, Vader waited for Palpatine to continue.

The Emperor took a breath then told him, bluntly, "Anakin Skywalker's son is dead…"

The words brought no physical reaction, but Palpatine sensed the tremor that rippled through the Dark Side of the Force: shock; grief; dismay; hatred; betrayal… love…

"How?"

Vader's voice was calm, devoid of any emotion, but Palpatine knew the news had struck Vader hard... or, at least, had struck hard at the part of the man who had remained and always would remain, Anakin Skywalker. Slowly, keeping his voice carefully controlled, Palpatine explained the circumstances of the boy's death, as the Gehndaarian Governor had reported it to him.

Vader listened, not believing.

He would have known… He would have sensed it…

And yet, Padme had slipped from life into death without his knowledge: his son had lived two decades without his knowledge…

_Was it possible?_

No!

He refused to believe it. He would not believe it until he saw the boy's body for himself. He had already been betrayed over Luke once: by his Jedi masters, who had hidden the boy in plain sight, leaving the galaxy to believe that he had died with Padme…

_Padme_…

Memories, hidden so deep that he had thought them erased until the encounter with Kenobi on the Death Star, rose to fill his mind.

_Come away with me. Help me raise our child. _

The boy's face, glimpsed briefly before the blast doors closed, seen more closely on the security footage after Skywalker was proclaimed one of the heroes of Yavin. The eyes and the mouth were Padme's, but everything else was Anakin. There was no doubting the boy's heritage.

_Anakin, all I want is your love. I'll never stop loving you, but you are going down a path I can't follow._

_Because of Obi-Wan?_

Obi Wan… His friend and mentor… The man who had betrayed him. The man who had stolen his son. The man who had turned away and left him in a burning hell of agony, left him to die…

_I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine…_

Beneath the obsidian mask, Vader smiled. In that, Obi Wan had been wrong. Obi Wan's power had lain in hiding the boy from him, in hiding his son from him. From the moment he had understood who Luke was, from the moment he had realised that his son had survived the treachery on Mastafar, Obi Wan's power had gone.

The boy had been raised on Tatooine, knowing only what Obi Wan wanted him to know of the Force: the way of the Jedi…

This new turn of events was a warning. Plans, dormant since Padme's death, had begun to entice him again and Vader had believed that he had time… time to search quietly for Luke, to track him down, to lay bait and reel the boy in, to dispel the lies Kenobi had instilled in him and show him the true power of the Dark Side of the Force.

_I've become more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of… together you and I can rule the galaxy…_

Now he realised that he did not have the luxury of time. He had not anticipated a freak event ripping his son from him again. If Luke was, as he believed, still alive, he would have to move more quickly.

Bringing his attention back to Palpatine, realising that the Emperor was not longer speaking, Vader inclined his head again. "I will go to Gehndaaria and bring Antilles to you, my Master…"


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

Wedge's skin was crawling, as if a hundred fire-spiders were running over his body. He could feel the sting of their bites. He twisted and turned, trying to shake them off, starting to panic. What had they put in here with him?

The movement of the liquid against his skin soothed the burning and he calmed a little, his breathing less panicked.

A small voice in the back of his mind warned him that he was losing it, going insane. Or maybe it was the drugs they had given him…

That's what it was: the drugs.

He calmed down, hanging on to that thought. It was the drugs. They were trying to confuse him, convince him that he was losing his mind; make him tell them everything he knew.

It wasn't going to happen. He was one step ahead now: one step ahead of the ISB. He knew what they were up to.

Comforted, he relaxed against the fluid. He needed to rest, to conserve his strength…

He wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep until he slammed awake: black shapes looming at him in the darkness, solidifying into monsters from his childhood. The grakn who drew the unwary traveller into the woods; the saerye who drew sailors to the depths of the oceans; the waelven who gathered dead souls from battlefields…

The waelven lingered, floating in front of him, beckoning him; her ink-dark clothes floating around her, hair flowing out behind her; her black wings beating slowly in darkness. She grasped his hands gently, drawing him with her: drawing him up through the dark sky into the starlit canopy of space.

The stars blinked at him, pinpoints of light that flickered and called to him.

The waelven drew him on, a dark, billowing shadow against the stars. She faded slowly, finally disappearing as the stars behind her began to wheel and turn.

Wedge watched as they began circling in towards him, moving faster and faster until it felt like he was in a hyperspace corridor: only it twisted and flowed ahead of him, past him, around him. He groaned softly, disoriented, his stomach beginning to churn against the rapidly changing flow of the light stream…

Castell turned as an alarm chimed softly on the tank readouts. Checking the display, she swore softly, ordering, "Get him out!"

Pushing up their shirt sleeves, Lekk and Sondu moved to the long, low tank; reaching into the liquid; grasping Antilles' shoulders and feet; lifting him out. Castell moved in as they placed him on the floor. She helped him sit up, leaving the black-out goggles on but releasing the catch on the respiration mask, pulling it off as Antilles' stomach finally rebelled.

This was one of the side-effects of isolation. Without visual stimulus, the brain tried to make sense of the confused messages it was getting. It created dream-like images of shadows and light that the subject had no control over: sometimes simple, sometimes complex, sometimes warping and changing so fast that it caused what Antilles was now experiencing: nausea.

She herself had survived less time in a tank than Antilles before she had hit the panic button and scrambled out to throw up. She had been exhausted too, unable to think clearly or speak coherently. Antilles would go through the same, or worse: all of which would leave him vulnerable to the arguments she was about to make.

She held him as the dry heaves wracked through him, caressing his hair, reassuring him softly. Looking up at Lekk, she nodded towards a flask of water. He walked over, picking it up, opening it and handing it to her.

Holding it to Antilles' lips, Castell ordered, "Drink, Lieutenant Commander."

Shivering in the cool air, disoriented and dizzy, Wedge obeyed the order, drinking the pure, clear water. It soothed his throat and he drank greedily.

"Ah-ah!" Castell admonished, after two or three mouthfuls, taking the flask away. "Enough!"

She handed the flask to Lekk then turned her attention back to Antilles. Still caressing his hair, she held him as he sank against her. "You're making this so difficult, Lieutenant Commander. And for what: to protect the Rebel Alliance; to protect the people who want to bring down the Empire and restore the Republic?"

Shivering and still trapped in darkness, Wedge said nothing. Groggy, disoriented and confused by this gentleness, he waited for it all to change: waited for the blows to start falling, for the sting of a needle as they pushed more drugs into him.

"Don't you see that their new Republic is doomed to failure?" Castell asked, softly. "How will they police it? The only thing that held the Old Republic together was the Jedi, and their treachery destroyed it. Without the Jedi, the Republic you so want to bring back would never work. Without the Jedi to keep the peace, it would dissolve into chaos and anarchy, just as it did before…"

Mind sluggish, it took a few moments for him to understand her words. When he did, they appalled him. She was wrong! The Jedi had died trying to save the Republic… Vader had betrayed them… They…

_Without the Jedi to keep the peace, it would dissolve into chaos and anarchy…_

He shook his head, unwilling to accept the words that whispered in his mind, moaning, "No…"

Castell didn't contradict him. Instead she pushed on.

"When the Jedi went feral," she told him, "the only thing that saved the galaxy from ripping apart was the Emperor. Only his foresight stopped the chaos. He will never relinquish that duty of care. He will never stand aside."

She paused for a moment, allowing him time to take in her words before going on, "The Jedi tried to assassinate him and failed. Even of your Rebel Alliance were to try, and succeed, those who support the Emperor will never accept the authority of the Republic. You will succeed only in drawing the Empire into another Civil War… This time, however, the clones are loyal to the Empire."

_No… She was wrong… More and more planets were allying themselves to the Rebellion… They would outnumber those who remained loyal to the Empire… It was only a matter of time…_

"What has the Rebel Alliance gained since the great 'victory' at Yavin, Lieutenant Commander?" she pushed. "What have you achieved except to draw out more malcontents who will rail as easily against a new Republic as they have done against the Empire! The Rebel Alliance has gained no ground. Instead you have been running, moving from base to base with people being lost along the way… People suffering… Like Aksha… Like you…"

"No…" He shook his head, moaning softly.

"The Empire is the only way forward, Lieutenant Commander," she told him. "It's the only way to ensure peace in the galaxy. The new Republic you are suffering for is doomed to failure without the Jedi... It will collapse in chaos…"

She held him for a moment longer, still caressing his hair. Then she eased him down onto the floor, moving back and standing up.

"Put him back in the tank," she ordered.

oo0oo

Luke woke early and lay, unable sleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind refused to turn off.

This was supposed to have been an easy mission. Go to the hotel and wait for the contact to show: it didn't get much simpler than that. Except that he had been over-confident, and with the pilots starting to go stir-crazy locked in the hotel rooms, he hadn't seen any harm in letting them go out into the city…

That decision had almost cost him his life. Worse, it had thrown Brin and Wedge into the hands of Imperial interrogators. All that stood between the remaining pilots and the Empire was the Manwah and her people.

_You could simply have been incapacitated, and Aksha and Antilles removed!_

Luke sighed softly, remembering the look on Nabrood's face: anguish tempered by determination. The Manwah had done only what she had had to, to protect her people. This mess wasn't Jenniiya Manwah's fault: it was his, his oversight. He was the ranking officer, a Commander in the Rebel Alliance, and he had failed to protect the men and women who had put their lives in his hands.

He had failed to protect his friends…

_You must learn the ways of the Force_…

Fat lot of good the Force had done him. It had alerted him that there was something wrong, just in time to get him stabbed in the heart with a shockstick.

And now the Manwah and her people were also compromised. Good people who had risked themselves to help the Rebel Alliance in the fight against the Empire, in the fight to restore the Republic.

Beru and Owen had been good people.

_Home_…

In that last year, after Biggs had left, he had begun to resent them, hating the limitations they placed on his life. Only after they had been killed had he realised that they had been trying to protect him, and remembered how much they had loved him, how much they had given him.

Only then had the anger of being tied to the farm been replaced by his memories as a little boy: of falling asleep to the sound of Beru's soft singing; of the delight at being allowed to help Owen repair the landspeeder; of being comforted in Owen's strong arms as the sickness bug left him fevered and emptying his stomach into a bucket…

They had been good, honest people; taking him in after his parents had died; loving him unconditionally; giving him their lives…

The grief washed over him, choking in his chest. He pushed it down, dashing away the tears that spilled from his eyes. There was no time for grief: not with Wedge and Brin in the cells and the Manwah and her people in danger.

At least Alissha, Lainey and Hobbie would be out of the situation by tonight.

His orders were to contact Alliance Command at sundown to confirm the coordinates for the rendezvous point with the _Falcon_, and agree on a time. The Manwah had sent Command a message, though, letting them know that the mission had been compromised. It was possible they were already sending details of the rendezvous.

The X-wings were flight, if not battle, ready, but there were ways around that. He would apprise Alliance Command of the situation, arrange for other fighters to be at the rendezvous point to ride escort for the compromised X-wings. And they could jump straight to the rendezvous.

Even if the doctor said he was fit to fly, Luke was loathed to leave without Wedge and Brin. That was something that he could discuss with the Manwah or Nabrood at a more sociable hour.

It occurred to him that when Han and Chewie discovered that he and the others had been injured, they might have fired up the _Falcon_ and already be on their way to Gehndaaria. The Imperials would have increased their vigilance, however, and getting in and out of Gehndaaria would be far more difficult now than it had been two days ago.

_They know you are here…_

Luke sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. What a mess. What a complete and utter mess…

oo0oo

Yolan lay on his bed, hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. He hadn't slept well and that bothered him. He needed his mind to be sharp in the present circumstances. He would be of no use to the Manwah with his wits dulled: but sleep had evaded him.

Sighing softly, he sat up, swinging his feet off the bed onto the floor, rubbing his hands across a sleep-bleary face.

He had supported Jenniiya's decision to provide military hardware to the Rebel Alliance despite the Diazez Chieftains voting to remain neutral in the confrontation. He had brokered the initial deal with the Corxians, believing - as the Manwah did - that the Cartel would be unable to remain neutral for much longer.

They were already losing people to the ranks of the Rebel Alliance: young men and women who were risking the wrath of their Chieftains by leaving to fight.

Six fighters: nothing in the great scheme of things. A small gesture that may or may not have been followed by other, just as small, gestures…

Yolan had never in his wildest nightmares imagined that things could go so badly wrong, so quickly.

Honour dictated that, having been invited here, the Rebel pilots were under their protection… Faced with shielding the Rebels or safeguarding the Cartel, however, Jenniiya had had no choice but to place the Cartel first. It was the right decision: the only decision… but this new turn of events sat uneasily with Yolan.

_We dispose of them… They died under Imperial questioning_

Yolan had never questioned Jenniiya's orders. She was the Manwah and commanded unflinching loyalty, unquestioning obedience. If he had to put a blaster against Antilles or Aksha's heads and pull the trigger, he would… but he had woken again and again during the night, finding himself searching for another way.

His door chimed and he swore, reaching for a robe, pulling it over his head as he ordered, "Come!"

Zren walked in, a scowl of puzzled displeasure on his tattooed face. "Something's up, boss…"

He said nothing more as, behind him, a droid hobbled in carrying a tray of kaffin and sweet-bakes. Yolan waited until the machine had placed the tray on the table and the door had closed behind its retreating back before ordering, "Explain! And quickly! I slept badly…"

Well used to the other man's moods, Zren shot him a cold smile, lifting the plate and offering him a bake. "Best have one of these, then," he told him, "because I doubt I'm going to make your temper any sweeter…"

Yolan swore, softly but succinctly, taking the plate, putting it on the bed.

"That ISB Colonel is a piece of work," Zren supplied, crossing to the vidscreen and pushing a data stick into the slot. "She's changed tactics and we're damned if we know what the hells she's up to. They pulled Antilles out of the tank," he went on, "used that Thio stuff on him…"

"What did he tell them?" Yolan cut in, stomach flipping.

"Nothing that implicates us," Zren assured him. "But that's not what's got us confused," he went on. "After they finished that session with him, they put him back in the tank…"

"Was he injured?" Yolan asked, mood darkening further at the thought of Antilles' suffering. He poured a large mug of kaffin, as Zren supplied, "They worked him over, used a damned shockstick on him again. Thing is, when they put him back in the tank, they didn't flush the Bacta."

Yolan frowned, mug half-way to his mouth. "What?"

"Glad you're as confused as we are," Zren empathised, pausing the footage as it began to play. "They left him in the tank for about three hours… Then this happened."

He let the footage run, moving across the room to stand beside Yolan.

Nabrood watched the events unfold, sipping the kaffin, frown deepening at the Lieutenant Colonel's actions. Castell and 'gentleness' was a contradiction in terms, so what the hells was she up to?

As she began to speak, the sour feeling in his belly intensified. He watched in growing concern, listening to the propaganda that flowed out of her.

"She almost had us believing her," Zren put in.

"That's because she believes everything she's telling him," Yolan supplied.

"So," Zren asked, nodding at the screen, still confused, "what the hells sort of interrogation is that?"

"It's not an interrogation," Yolan said slowly. "She's trying to imprint him…"

Zren looked at him, "She's what?"

"She's using the tank for sensory denial," Yolan told him, getting to his feet. "They're mind-wiping him…" Snagging a bake, heading for the door, he asked, "Have they done the same to Aksha?"

"They've not touched the other Rebel…" Zren confirmed, stopping the footage.

"Summon the physician," Yolan ordered.

"But… Aksha's recovering…"

Yolan turned at the door, telling him, "ISB don't know that… And if they think Aksha's dead, we only have Antilles to worry about!"

oo0oo

Jenniiya rubbed her face, trying to will away the fatigue that drew a long, deep yawn from her. Figures and logistics buzzed in her head, beginning to merge into one, unintelligible mass.

She poured another kaffin, taking a long draw, pulling a face as she swallowed the cold, bitter liquid.

The only way she could see of getting both the Rebels and the X-wings off-planet was to load the fighters back into the Gribbs' ship and let the Rebels fly it out. That was risky, though. Her engineers hadn't had time to give it a thorough once-over. She had no idea what traps or hidden snares the slimey little Corxians might have incorporated into the systems to make sure that no-one but them could use…

Unless…

She lifted her comlink, pressing the button. Almost immediately, one of the security men answered and she ordered, "Have Isshk Gribb brought up! Is he in the same cell as his brother?"

"He is, Manwah," the man answered.

"Have the brother removed to another cell when you bring Isshk up."

"As ordered, Manwah."

"Is Ingar still with his charges?"

"He is, Manwah."

"Have them…" The door chime interrupted her. "Never mind," she ordered into the comlink. "Just have the Gribb brought up!"

Putting the device down, she called, "Come!"

The door slid open to admit Yolan. She quirked an eyebrow at his dishevelled, unkempt appearance, telling him, "You look like crap."

He bowed deeply, countering, "With respect, Manwah, have you happened upon a mirror this morning?"

"Unless you bring me good news," she shot back, "I'll schedule your execution for this afternoon!"

"Then it is fortuitous that I do, indeed, bring good news," he told her, before appending, "Possibly."

He ignored the sour look she gave him, beginning, "The Imperials haven't checked on Aksha since he was interrogated last night. With the Doctor's help we might convince them that, by this morning, he had succumbed to his injuries."

"Arrange it," she ordered, stifling another yawn before continuing, "And have the X-wings loaded back onto the Corxian's freighter. The Rebels need to leave this morning. We can't risk keeping them here any longer."

Yolan frowned then ventured, "Forgive me, Manwah, but have our engineers had time to strip the ship?"

"That's about to be taken care of," she told him, pushing herself to her feet. "They're bringing Isshk Gribb up. If he thinks his brother is going to be on the ship when it leaves, I'm sure he'll tell us exactly how to circumvent any nasty little surprises he and his brother might have left in the ship's systems."

Yolan smiled coldly. "I applaud your thinking, Manwah. Is my presence required?"

She shook her head. "No… Concentrate on Aksha. We need him out of there."

"There's something else," Yolan told her. "I believe ISB are attempting to mind-wipe Antilles…"

Jenniiya closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. "Are they using drugs?"

"Isolation tank…"

Jenniiya sighed. "Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell truly is an Executor-class bitch…"

"Beauty and the beast," Yolan agreed, "wrapped in one, arrogant package."

Jenniiya rubbed her temples again, knowing that she was tired, not wanting to risk making any wrong decisions because of her fatigue. They were already in enough trouble. She looked at Yolan. "Get Aksha out. I want him on that ship with the rest of the Rebels. Once that's done we can turn our attention to Antilles…"

"As ordered, Manwah," Yolan acknowledged.

The door chimed again and Jenniiya called, "Come!"

Lyn stopped just inside the door, looking from Yolan to the Manwah. "Did either of you get any sleep last night?"

"That," Jenniya pointed out, "is the second morning in a row that you have insulted me! You're treading on uneven ground!"

Yolan chuckled softly, heading past Lyn. "I have somewhere else to be… Good luck," he finished, dropping a hand on Lyn's shoulder before stepping out into the corridor.

Lyn grinned at Jenniiya, walking towards her. Taking the a fresh change of clothing she was carrying for Jenniiya and laying it across a chair for her, she pointed out, "If you have me executed, who else would bring you clean clothes? And who else would you trust to arrange a masseur to ease those weary muscles…"

Jenniiya sighed softly. "You have no idea how good that sounds right about…"

She trailed off, sighing again as she remembered the Rebel pilots in the cells beneath her: dismayed with herself that she should be considering pleasure in the face of everything Aksha and Antilles were going through. Massaging her forehead with her fingers, she told Lyn, "Find me some stims. I've been up most of the night."

She pushed herself to her feet. "I need to make myself presentable. They're bringing Isshk Gribb up."

"A new manservant?" Lyn quipped.

Jenniiya shot her a look then lifted the fresh clothing, headed for bookcase that disguised the fresher closet door. "We need to use their ship. Isshk is going to tell me what nasty surprises they've set up for the unwary…"

oo0oo

The chime of her holocom pulled Ljana Castell's attention from the tank readouts. Swearing softly, she turned, picking it up. She had left orders not to be disturbed unless it was life-or-death important. If someone was contacting her, it didn't bode well.

She picked it up, activating it, acknowledging the image of Oston with a nod of her head. The expression on his face told her that he was not contacting her with good news.

"Governor."

"Lieutenant Colonel, I have received a communiqué from the Emperor…" Oston told her. "A droid has been sent to the location of the Rebel base Aksha gave you. And a ship has been dispatched to retrieve Antilles. It will be here in four hours."

"Governor," Ljana protested, "We have only just begun the process. Antilles is not…"

"You may give your explanation," Oston interjected, "to the officer who has been appointed to oversee the… assignment."

Ljana looked at Oston, unsettled by his manner. Something had rattled the Governor: something more than simply a ship being sent to take Antilles to the Emperor. That was, after all, what she and Oston had been aiming toward. "Assignment?" she clarified. "Antilles is now, officially, an assignment?"

"He is, Lieutenant Colonel," Oston confirmed. Then he made a small noise of irritation, continuing, "And you have been redeployed..."

So that was why Oston was riled: he was losing her, he had no choice in the matter and he was exasperated by it. Ljana quashed a smile, schooling her face into a look of sympathetic annoyance. "A temporary reassignment…" she attempted.

"That," Oston interrupted, his voice tight with indignation, "remains to be seen!"

Nerves trembled tightly in the pit of Ljana's stomach: anticipation tempered with dread. Antilles could simply have been removed from her custody. She could easily have been replaced. Instead, she had been reassigned: possibly permanently.

The potential thrilled her, but she also knew it was a double-edged sword that could spell disaster for her as easily as it promised advancement. She had to move carefully.

With that in mind, she asked, "To whom am I now to report, Governor?"

The holographic image of Oston bristled. Then the Governor announced, "Lord Vader."

Ljana swallowed, hard. "Lord Vader…"

"Indeed!" Oston confirmed, indignantly. Then he harrumphed loudly, telling her, "I will give you as much time as I can, Lieutenant Commander, but Vader is single-minded in his performance of duty. If the Emperor has dispatched him to retrieve Antilles, pleasantries may not delay him."

"I understand, Governor. Thank you for the warning…"

He nodded, then went on, "I hope you are completely sure of what you are doing, Ljana. Vader is not known for his forgiving nature…"

Castell smiled, assuring him, "I will be careful, Governor."


	13. Chapter 13

Lyn wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell emanating from the Corxian as he was escorted into Jenniiya's office. The quills on his head ruffled in terror, his skin dark blue shot with green. Gage forced him down onto his knees then stepped back, arms folded.

Jenniiya waited a few, long moments before glancing up from her computer display. "We require the services of the ship you forfeited," she told him, turning her attention back to the display. "We assume that you have taken the precaution of disabling it to prevent unauthorised use. You will tell my men how it has been disabled."

Lyn watched the quills flatten on the Corxian's head. His wide, obsidian eyes blinked twice.

Clutching at the chance to extricate himself and his brother from the badly-miscalculated position they found themselves in, he ventured, "Perhaps we could come to some agreement…"

"We have an agreement," Jenniiya countered, her attention on the display in front of her.

His quills ruffled in dismay.

"There is no question of the ship not being employed," Lyn told him. "The Manwah has spoken. You will provide the required information."

"Manwah," Isshk tried again.

"The ship leaves in four hours," Jenniiya interrupted. "Your brother will be aboard, insurance against anything untoward occurring. Whatever harm befalls the ship, befalls him…" She lifted her gaze from the displays, giving the Corxian her full attention. "Am I making myself understood?"

Isshk swallowed hard, his quills quivering, skin turning a pale azure, accentuating the dark colour of his eyes. "I understand your meaning…"

"Then my men will be provided with all the information they require."

It was not a question, but Isshk assured her, "They will…"

Turning her attention back to the display, Jenniiya ordered, "Take him back to the cell."

"Yes, Manwah," Gage acknowledged, stepping in and dragging Isshk to his feet.

"Once you have the information," Jenniiya added, "allow him to bathe… And have the brother bathed now..."

oo0oo

Yolan surged to his feet, moving quickly down the stairs to meet the doctor as he arrived. Vezlentz looked at him in alarm, demanding, "What is it? What's wrong? What has she done to those boys?"

Yolan held up his hand to calm the doctor, then took his elbow, guiding him to the stairs to the cells. Voice muted, he began, "ISB have not touched Aksha since you treated him last night. Is there anything you can give him, any way you could make it appear that he had succumbed to the injuries he received or the drugs they gave him?"

"With the beating he took?" Vezlentz scorned. "A lesser doctor than I might certainly have missed something…" He paused, then asked, "What about Antilles?"

"I fear," Yolan admitted, sourly, "there is nothing we can do help him."

Vezlentz swore, softly but succinctly, bringing the ISB officers' parentage into question. "Take me to Aksha first," he told Nabrood. "Let me see what I can do for him. Then I shall attend to my… other patients…."

Yolan nodded, leading him down to the cells, walking along the corridor to Aksha's cell. The stormtrooper still guarded the entrance but, like the evening before, did nothing to stop Yolan or the doctor from entering the cell.

Taexs stood up as the door slid open. She nodded to Yolan, telling him, "He has slept. He does not appear to be in pain."

"Good. Get some sleep," he told her, dismissing her.

Vezlentz was already running the mediscanner over the Rebel as the cell door closed behind her.

"How is he?" Yolan asked.

"Healing well…"

"That's good to hear," Brin murmured softly, opening his eyes to look up at the doctor.

Vezlentz grinned at him, closing the mediscanner. "A little discomfort, but no difficulty breathing, no residual nausea?" he surmised.

"Sounds about right," Brin told him.

"That is about to change," Yolan warned.

Feeling suddenly sick, Brin asked, "Are they coming back for me?"

Yolan shook his head, "No…"

"We have a plan to get you out," Vezlentz told him, softly, "But you must trust me. We must make them believe that you are dead…"

Brin nodded, telling him, "I trust you, Doc…" Then he asked, "What about Wedge?"

"We are still working on that dilemma," Yolan supplied before warning, "We are wasting time. We need to move quickly."

He walked over to kneel beside the Rebel as Vezlentz drew a vial and a hypodermic from his bag. "We will do what we can for Antilles," he assured Brin softly, "you have my word. Right now you must trust us to help you."

"This," Vezlentz told him, "will induce a deep loss of consciousness. To the untrained eye, you will appear dead. To a mediscanner, you will appear on the brink of death." He saw the apprehension on Brin's face and assured him, "I will not leave you, young man."

"And as soon as it is safe, you will be returned to your friends," Yolan promised.

"But…" Brin tried, troubled by the thought of leaving Wedge to his fate, uncomfortable with being rescued when the Lieutenant Commander, his friend, was going to be left behind. "Wedge…"

"Lieutenant," Yolan countered, "your first duty is to the Rebel Alliance. It is your duty to return to Alliance lines. And with you safe, we can concentrate on helping Antilles…"

Relenting, Brin nodded, wincing as Vezlentz slid the hypodermic into his arm.

"How long until it takes effect?" Yolan asked.

"Not long," the doctor assured him, withdrawing the needle.

On the cot, Brin giggled. "Ooh…" he commented, "this is good… stuff…" His voice trailed off as he frowned, his eyes sliding closed and his body relaxing into unconsciousness.

"Is he under?"

Vezlentz checked the Rebel's slowing pulse, nodding, "He is…"

Dropping his hand onto the doctor's shoulder as he climbed to his feet, Yolan headed out of the cell; walking the few feet down the corridor to where Antilles was being held. This time the stormtrooper stopped him.

"Inform the Lieutenant Colonel that I must speak with her!" Yolan ordered.

The trooper looked at him. Yolan looked back at the helmeted figure.

"Lieutenant Colonel Castell," he heard the trooper say, finally, "The Manwah's security chief wants to see you."

Nothing happened for a few seconds… then the door to the cell opened. Castell looked at him.

"The other Rebel is dying," Yolan told her. "The physician is with him now. I thought you would want to know."

"Show me," Castell told him, following as he turned.

"We had a guard with him," Yolan supplied as he led the way back to the cell where Brin lay unconscious. "She alerted us that he was having trouble breathing. We summoned the physician."

Vezlentz looked round as the door slid open. He stood, turning, giving Yolan and Castell an indignant look as they walked in. "There is nothing I can do for him," he announced.

Castell moved across, looking down dispassionately at the dark-haired Rebel. His death was not an inconvenience. Antilles was the only Rebel who now mattered, but if Lord Vader had been informed that two terrorists had been arrested, she wasn't going to risk his displeasure by being unable to give him a comprehensive answer to the question of how one of them had died. "What happened?"

"I will be able to give you a definitive cause after the autopsy," Vezlentz supplied, "but I believe he may have had a reaction to the drugs… or perhaps a pre-existing condition that has been exacerbated. Either way, there is nothing more I can do for him."

She nodded, looking at Nabrood, telling him, "My apologies to the Manwah. I believe she wanted to keep this one for herself. I will inform the Governor." Turning she moved back towards the door. "I'm sure he will suitably reimburse the Manwah."

She paused, looking back at Nabrood. "You may dispose of the body as you see fit, once he is dead," she told him. "For the moment, I still have need of him."

Turning, she walked out of the cell. Yolan stood for a moment, saying nothing as the door closed behind her.

"That young woman truly is a cold-hearted bitch," Vezlentz commented, softly.

"Executor-class," Yolan agreed. Then he turned, asking the doctor, "How long before the drug wears off?"

"It differs," Vezlentz supplied. "I will monitor him. I can afford to give him a little more if he starts coming round before Miss Executor has 'need of him'…"

oo0oo

For a long time there had been nothing except darkness and the sound of his own, panicked breathing. He was exhausted, unable to think clearly, his mind playing the Imperial's words over and over again.

_The only thing that held the Old Republic together was the Jedi and their treachery destroyed it… their new Republic is doomed to failure… Without the Jedi to keep the peace, it will collapse in chaos…_

He moaned softly, trying to stop the words, but he was too drained to fight them and they kept flowing, swamping him.

…_the only thing that saved the galaxy from ripping apart was the Emperor… The Jedi tried to assassinate him and failed…He will never stand aside…. _

_What have you achieved except to draw out more malcontents who will rail as easily against a new Republic as they have done against the Empire. The Empire is the only way forward…_

_This time the clones are loyal to the Empire_…

_The Empire is the only way forward_…

She was wrong… she was wrong… More and more people were joining the Rebellion…

…_malcontents who will rail as easily against a new Republic as they have done against the Empire_…

No…

…_you have been running, moving from base to base with people being lost along the way… People suffering… Like Aksha… Like you_…

No… He was suffering because of his own mistake… Brin was suffering because of his mistake…

_You are making this so difficult Lieutenant Commander… You will succeed only in drawing the Empire into another Civil War… This time, however, the clones are loyal to the Empire_…

"_They turned on the Jedi, son…" _His father's voice slipped into his mind.

"Dad?"

"_Those damned clone troopers. Shot them down without warning, same day as the Jedi temple burned_…"

"Dad…"

"_It's the younglings that gets me… Poor little buggers… Why did they kill the younglings?"_

Emotions swamped him. He tried to swallow down the restriction in his throat, but the sob tore through him, wrenching into a scream. He fought against the restraints, desperately twisting and turning, trying to free himself.

The outburst only sapped him of what little energy he had left, leaving him drained and fighting to breathe in a sea of darkness.

Why didn't they come? Why had they left him here? Why weren't they questioning him?

Something brushed against his legs and he recoiled, terror sparking through him. Over the sound of his panicked breath, he heard the steady beat of wings. Taking a deep breath, slowing his breathing, he waited, comforted by the sound, understanding what it was.

If she was here, it meant his torment was almost over. The waelven gathered dead souls from battlefields, and if she had come for his, it meant he was close to death…

He watched her as she flew towards him, ink-dark clothes flowing around her, hair streaming out behind her. She stopped in front of him, her dark wings beating the air gently. Reaching out, she grasped his elbow, drawing him with her through the darkness.

A glow of light appeared ahead of them and the waelven drew him towards it. The glow spread out into a thick column of fire that threw burning embers high into the night sky. He could feel the heat of the blaze on his skin, smell the acrid smoke that billowed, unchecked, into the air.

Wedge knew what he was watching. He recognised it from newscast footage. This was the Jedi temple on Coruscant…

_The only thing that held the Old Republic together was the Jedi and their treachery destroyed it…_

_They turned on the Jedi, son, shot them down without warning…_

The Jedi hadn't destroyed the Republic. They had died trying to save it… They had been betrayed by the Emperor and by Vader. And she was wrong… They weren't all gone… There were rumours of Jedi in hiding… There was… Luke…

_It's the younglings that gets me… Poor little buggers… Those damned clone troopers. Shot them down without warning…_

_This time the clones are loyal to the Empire_… _The Empire is the only way forward_…

The waelven turned, her dark wings sweeping away the scene. The fire flowed out, turned monochrome then flowed back in, coalescing into another image: the huge bulk of a planet.

Yavin…

Wedge swallowed, anticipation washing through him as he watched the fighters ahead of him clear the bulk of the planet…

Expectation turned to horror. The scene was exactly as he remembered; except that it wasn't the Death Star they were flying towards… it was Alderaan…

Frozen in the X-wing, unable to move, Wedge screamed in warning… but it was too late…

Alderaan disintegrated in a blinding flash of destruction…

_What has the Rebel Alliance gained since the great 'victory' at Yavin, Lieutenant Commander?_

_Those damned clone troopers. Shot them down without warning…_

…_the clones are loyal to the Empire_… _The new Republic is doomed to failure…_ _The Empire is the only way forward_…

"No!" He screamed the word, struggling weakly against the restraints, trying to shove the images and the thoughts out of his head. "No! No!"

The Empire was flawed! It was wrong! It was sucking the life out of the star systems under its control! It had to be stopped! The Emperor had to be stopped!

…_the clones are loyal to the Empire_… _The new Republic is doomed to failure…_ _The Empire is the only way forward_…

Hands grasped hold of him, lifting him. The rush of cold air brought him crashing out of illusion into reality. One terror was ripped from him, replaced by another: laced with menace and foreboding. He fought against the grip on his shoulders and legs, fear lending him strength as he tried to twist out of their grip: succeeding only in being dumped, unceremoniously, on the cold floor.

Then he convulsed, fire ripping along his nerves, driving the air out of his lungs.

Ljana Castell lifted the shockstick away from the Rebel's chest. Handing it to Lekk, she knelt down, undoing the respiration mask and drawing it away from Antilles' face as he gasped for breath.

She turned him onto his side, undoing the restraints, moving away to allow Lekk and Sondu to drag him off the floor. They manoeuvred him towards a chair and table, sitting him down, removing the blindfold. He blinked, the light hurting his eyes.

Castell placed a flask and a plate on the table. "You must be hungry, Lieutenant Commander. There's fruit on the table beside you. And water."

Beginning to shiver in the cool air, Wedge peered through the brightness. Reacting on instinct, unable to think clearly, still hearing the beat of the waelven's wings in his head, he reached out, picking up the flask and taking a drink of the cool, clear liquid.

Castell watched him, seeing the hesitation and the slow, laboured way he picked up the water. The isolation was taking a toll on his coordination. His thoughts would be confused, disorganised… erratic...

She lifted a chair, carrying it across and placing it in front of him, sitting down. "We have quite a dossier on you, Lieutenant Commander," she told him, watching his reaction to her words. "Gun-running for the Rebellion; the attack on the space station at Yavin; the assault on the Seinar shipyards…"

He gave no sign that he had heard her, placing the flask back on the table with shaky hands, reaching for a fijg. He had trouble picking it up, but finally he lifted it.

"You were injured during the Seinar attack…" Castell supplied. "Your X-wing was badly damaged. You barely escaped into hyperspace…"

He frowned, looking at her, trying to remember the details through the fog that clouded his memory. Seinar… He had been injured?

Memories pushed themselves grudgingly into his mind… His T-65 had been damaged… his shields had failed… but… Hobbie had been the one in real trouble…

Hobbie...

Who was upstairs with Luke…

Castell smiled, hearing the change in his breathing. She turned, nodding to Lekk, who headed for the door. Turning her attention back to Antilles, Castell supplied, "Twice before you have almost been arrested, now we have you. It is only a matter of time before we also have the rest of your friends in the Rebel Alliance…"

Reaching out, she took the fijg from him, tearing it in half, holding the pieces out to him. "The Rebel Alliance is doomed to failure," she told him earnestly. "You have endured so much, and for what? A fight that you cannot win?"

She stood up, moving to him, gently pressing one half of the fijg into his hand. He looked at it blankly, almost as if he was trying to work out what he was holding.

"The Emperor will never stand aside," she went on. "The Rebel Alliance will never remove him."

Sinking to her knees, she lifted his chin. His gaze slid from the fijg, to her. Caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers, she told him, "You are worth more than this, Lieutenant Commander, more than the lies you have been told: because the Rebellion was founded on lies, founded by those who resented Palpatine's power, who sided with Jedi in their attempt to assassinate him."

_Those damned clone troopers. Shot them down without warning…_

Wedge closed his eyes, swallowing hard, mind reeling. Images of the burning Jedi temple warped into memories of watching Hobbie's T-65 crash, of not knowing whether or not he'd managed to bang out.

Castell watched the emotion wash across his face and left him to his thoughts for a long moment. Right now he would be trying to sift through the information, trying to sort out what he perceived to be the truth, from the lies.

Finally, gently running her hand down his arm, she implored, "I am the only one who can help you, Lieutenant Commander. Let me help you… Your friends are lost to you. Downhigher has gone. Skywalker is dead… Aksha is dead…"

The breath caught in his throat, the words slamming at him. He opened his eyes, looking at her, refusing to believe her. "No…"

Behind her, the cell door opened. "I'm sorry," she told him. "Yes…"

She stood up, moving aside as the powerful figure of Yolan Nabrood followed Lekk into the cell, the unconscious body of Aksha slung across his shoulders.

Panic and guilt mounting, Wedge watched as Nabrood sank to his knees, gently lowering Brin to the floor.

Wedge shook his head, refusing to acknowledge what he was seeing. "No…"

_It wasn't true… It couldn't be true_…

But Brin lay motionless, still… too still…

_Aksha is dead…._

Grief clawed at him, drawing a wracking sob from his throat. He tried to get to his feet, tried to get to Brin, but his legs refused to hold him.

Yolan clenched his jaw, unable to watch as the ISB woman moved in, catching Antilles, easing him onto the floor. This was worse than any physical torment she had made the Rebels endure. Physical torture a man could withstand, but there was only so much mental torment a man could endure and Yolan knew exactly what Antilles had been subjected to.

Castell let Antilles go, allowing him to crawl across to Aksha. He reached out, touching Aksha's hand.

Brin's skin was warm. Hope flared and Wedge fumbled at Brin's wrist, trying to find a pulse, trying to deny the words that echoed in his head…

"No…"

Castell watched him crumble, heard him whisper Aksha's name. She smiled, getting to her feet, motioning to Lekk and Sondu who moved in, dragging Antilles off the floor. Turning, she looked down at Nabrood, telling him, "You may remove the body."

Moving before she changed her mind, Yolan heaved Brin up, standing with him, dropping him over his shoulder and carrying him towards the door. Behind him, the Imperials secured a chain around Antilles' wrists, hoisting him back into the air.

oo0oo

Jenniiya opened the door, stepping back to allow the serving droids into the room ahead of her. She followed them in, watching as they put the trays on the tables. Belly rumbling, Hobbie pushed himself to his feet, grinning at the sight of the laden trays. He put his finger to his lips as she opened her mouth to speak to him, indicating Skywalker with a stab of his thumb.

"He didn't sleep well," he told her softly as he reached her. "He's not long gone over…"

"Is he in discomfort?" Jenniiya asked quietly, suddenly worried, "His heart?"

The droids turned, moving back out of the door as Hobbie shook his head, looking across at the sleeping Commander. "No," he told her, "Just Luke being Luke. Give him enough time, on his own, to think, and he'd convince himself that he was responsible for the destruction of Alderaan."

"He has much responsibility on his shoulders," Jenniiya commented.

Hobbie turned, looking at her, "Bit akin to yourself then, Ma'am."

She smiled at him. "Like your Commander, I have good people around me…"

She sighed, shaking her head, telling him, "The Governor knew you were here. He confronted me. I had no other choice. If there had been a way to save your friends from all they are enduring, I would have chosen it."

Hobbie looked away, stomach suddenly churning at the site of the food, guilt pushing at him. He swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I know, Ma'am," he told her. "Been giving that a lot of thought myself. You did what you had to. You've got people counting on you."

Jenniiya nodded, "Yes…"

They stood in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, then Jenniiya asked, "Have you flown anything other than X-wings, Lieutenant?"

He nodded, looking at her, "I have, Ma'am. Put me in a ship and there's a damned good probability I can fly it."

"Then your services will be needed," she told him, continuing, "Wake your companions, have them eat. We have a ship to get you and the X-wings off-planet. You will be leaving within the next few hours."

He looked at her, anticipation crawling through his belly, but it was tempered by trepidation. Getting off Gehndaaria and out of this nightmare was something he wanted desperately… but with Brin and Wedge still in Imperial hands, he was reticent to leave…

"Ma'am," he began, "Is… I mean… I…"

Knowing exactly what he was trying to ask, she told him, "There is a chance we may be able to free Brin. Nabrood is working on that as we speak. The Lieutenant Commander, however," she admitted, "will be more… problematic. The ISB officers are…"

"ISB?" Hobbie interrupted, dread washing over him. "Wedge is being questioned by ISB?"

"A Lieutenant Colonel," Jenniiya confirmed.

Hobbie swore softly.

The door opened and they both turned.

Hobbie frowned then, heart flipping, he realised who Nabrood was carrying. He rushed over to help.

Yolan let Brin slide off his shoulder as Vezlentz walked into the room, allowing Hobbie to help him with the unconscious pilot. Together, they carried Brin across the room, laying him down on the bed beside Luke.

"He has been drugged!" Yolan warned Hobbie before the man reacted to Aksha's apparent lifelessness.

"A compound that gives the appearance of death," Vezlentz confirmed.

"It was the only way we could free him," Yolan continued, stepping away from the bed as Vezlentz moved in. He turned, walking back across to Jenniiya. "The Imperials believe he is dead," he told her. Then he glanced back at the bed before indicating to Jenniiya that he needed to speak to her alone.

She turned, heading for the door, saying nothing until both she and Yolan were in the corridor, the door closing behind them. "What's wrong?"

"Antilles will not endure much more," he told her. "He believes that Aksha is dead. They paraded Aksha's 'body' in front of him. On top of everything else they have subjected him to, I do not believe he will last much longer…"

He paused then quantified, "I saw his eyes, Manwah. They are… haunted…"

Jenniiya swore silently, considered his words for a long moment before asking, "Have they questioned him since changing tactics?"

Yolan shook his head, "No. I believe they are concentrating on mind-wiping him… And he is very close to succumbing."

Jenniiya heard the anger and bitterness in his voice and resisted the temptation to reach out and touch his shoulder. Instead, she drew the duty of Manwah around her, asking gently, "Is your concern for the Cartel, or for the Rebel, Yolan?"

He shot her a sour look, reminding her, "With respect, Manwah, the Rebel is our guest and we were unable to protect him."

"That fault lies with me alone!" she reprimanded sharply.

Eyes going wide, he shook his head, trying, "Manwah, I did not mean…"

"Concentrate on getting the Rebels out," she ordered, cutting him off. "The fighters are being loaded back onto the Corxians' ship. Isshk Gribb is providing information on the security precautions they introduced. Everything should be settled and the ship should be ready to leave in a few hours."


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

The shuttle dropped below the Star Destroyer, pausing for a moment to allow the foils to lock down. Then it turned, setting course towards the blue-green planet below.

In the solitude of the cabin, Sith Lord, Darth Vader sank to his knees, searching out the calm of meditation. If his son was still alive and hidden on the planet below, he knew that he would sense him, feel his presence within the Force.

Only now that it might be too late, did he fully understand the emotions and the need that had been growing within him since that fleeting glimpse of his son on the Death Star.

_I have brought peace, justice, freedom and security to my new Empire._

Memories, two decades old, coalesced in his mind as he reached out through the Force, searching for any sign to confirm that Luke Skywalker was still alive.

Anakin Skywalker had conspired to rule that Empire with Padme Amidala. In the aftermath of her death, in the midst of the grief and the shock that, even as Sith, he had been unable to save her, those plans had evaporated. Beholden to Sidious, unable to join Padme in death, he had lived one day at a time, immersed in hate and grief.

Time had not dulled the agony, but it had given him the strength to live with it.

Now, two decades on, the desire for power had returned. Once again he found himself entertaining thoughts of overthrowing Palpatine, of securing the galaxy… this time, for his son.

…_raise our child_…

That possibility had been denied him. Vader embraced the resentment, letting it strengthen him as he searched for his son.

Obi-Wan had turned Padme against him, and then hidden her child from him… in plain sight. And, in believing the child to be dead, he had never searched for him.

The last remnants of Anakin Skywalker had died with Padme.

As Darth Vader, he had used the anger and the grief that memories of her always induced, and had forged a new existence. Tatooine and the Lars farm had not been part of that. And yet, one visit would have undone Kenobi's scheming. One visit would have led him to…

Luke…

Beneath the obsidian mask, Vader smiled, sensing the unique pattern of energy, untrained, raw and laden with potential: the same energy he had sensed during the attack on the Death Star. It was frail, weak… but there.

His son was on the planet below. He was in pain, but he was still alive. His emotions were unguarded and Vader sensed worry, concern: for Antilles…

Vader smiled, anticipation thrilling through him. He did not have Luke but, very soon, he would have Antilles. Antilles would provide the means of securing the boy.

Drawing slowly out of the meditation, Vader pushed down the rush of elation, bringing his emotions back under tight control. He could not risk the Emperor sensing his intent.

He was not naïve enough to believe that he was still indispensable to Palpatine. That had been true in the beginning, but Palpatine had forged the Empire around himself. Vader might still be feared, but without the continued presence of the Jedi, the galaxy was no longer awed by the power of the Force.

He would be eliminated if Palpatine discovered his intent.

Once he had Luke within his influence, he would have to move carefully. Training Luke in the ways of the Force would cause tremors that Palpatine could not fail to detect… but as long as Palpatine did not associate him with the boy's growing powers, they would still have a chance.

…_together you and I can rule the galaxy…_

He had made that pledge to Padme before she had been turned against him. Now he would make the same promise to Luke. Together, as father and son, they would bring peace, freedom and security to the galaxy.

oo0oo

Brin surfaced slowly, to the mother and father of all hangovers. Head pounding, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, he groaned softly, trying to work out what he had been drinking the night before and who, exactly, he had been drinking with.

"Easy, Brin," a soft voice cautioned.

_Hobbie?_

"Is he awake?" another voice asked. _That was Luke…_

"He's awake," Hobbie confirmed. He lifted Brin's head, putting a glass to his lips. "Brin, drink this. Doctor's orders."

Aksha did as he was told, drinking the cool liquid, feeling it ease his throat. He dragged open bleary eyes, peering up, but he couldn't focus properly.

"Brin?" Luke asked. "How are you feeling?"

Aksha took another mouthful of the cool liquid, swallowed then, voice hoarse, asked, "Anyone remember what was I drinking last night?"

Lainey chuckled, commenting, "He's fine…"

Luke smiled, shaking his head, telling Brin, "You weren't drinking, buddy. The doc gave you something to make you sleep, remember?"

A memory surfaced, of an older man. _To the untrained eye, you will appear dead_… Which brought back a flood of other memories. Stomach churning, he asked, "Wedge?"

"They're working on getting him out," Luke assured him then pressed, "How are you feeling?"

"The doc said you might have a headache or feel cold, shivery?" Hobbie supplied. "It'll wear off, though…"

Brin swallowed, closing his eyes. "Head's thumping…" he admitted. "Can't see properly… All blurred…"

Lainey wrung out a cloth that had been soaking in a small bowl of cold water. Placing it gently on his forehead, she assured him him. "Nothing to worry about." She frowned, touching his shoulder, "Brin?"

"He's asleep," Hobbie told her.

Vezlentz had warned them that he might drift in and out for a few hours after he first regained consciousness. They were to let him sleep it off, but get him to drink water when they could, to stop him dehydrating.

Lainey glanced at Luke, sitting at the desk, still holding the datapad Hobbie had brought back from the X-wings. The worry, that had lifted briefly when Brin had come around, was etched on his face again. He looked older: not surprising considering everything he had been through in the previous, two days…

_Two days_… The reality astounded her. Had it really only been two days since Wedge and Alissha had brought back the box of brightly coloured pastries? It seemed like weeks… Weeks of worry and fear and waiting…

She looked across at Hobbie, who was sitting back down in the chair that he'd occupied since Alissha had warned him that if he didn't stop pacing she'd break his ankles. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped tightly on his lap, as if he was using all of his energy just to stay still.

Brin made a soft sound and she turned her attention back to him. He was drawn, pale. The bruising on his wrists was dark, mottled, ugly. Beneath the sheet, she knew, the same bruising covered his chest and back. She had no idea what he had been through, but the thought of what he had had to endure filled her with dread.

The thought of having to leave Wedge behind, filled her with horror.

Torture and death: two of the reason she had found herself leaving her parents a long, involved letter, explaining why she could no longer marry her fiancé and that she was going to try to find the Rebel Alliance. They had no-doubt destroyed the letter. She knew they had posted her as missing. She had no idea, nor did she really care, what they had told Jace.

Reaching out, she lifted the cloth, soaking it in the cool water and wringing it out before placing it back on Brin's forehead.

oo0oo

Yolan Nabrood pressed the chime on Jenniiya's office door, going in before she had given him permission to enter. She looked up, the reprimand dying on her lips as she saw the look on his face.

"What is it?"

"Manwah," he began, glancing at the man sitting at the table opposite her, drinking Cha. Yolan hadn't realised that the Kenwa Chieftain was with her.

"Derwhen knows of our guests," Jenniiya supplied, seeing the flash of irritation that crossed Yolan's face, knowing that he would berate her later for not keeping him up to date with security information. "What is it?"

"Manwah," he told her, "a Star Destroyer has entered orbit above the city. They've dispatched a shuttle to the surface."

There was more, she knew there was more: she could tell by the urgency in his stance. "And?"

"We believe the ship is the _Executor_… Lord Vader's ship."

Vader… one of Palpatine's most trusted officers. Jenniiya sat back, taking stock of the situation.

It could, of course, be completely unrelated to the Rebel pilots: or, more precisely, the apparently-dead Skywalker and the pilot still in ISB custody. It could have everything to do with Oston taking up his position as Imperial Governor only days before. She wasn't about to take any chances, though. If Yolan was concerned, so was she.

Vader, Jenniiya knew, had been a Jedi. She also knew the powers that the Jedi had possessed. There was no way she was going to risk hiding the Alliance pilots in the manor any longer, not when Vader might demand an audience with Antilles.

"Move our guests," she ordered. "Now…"

"Manwah," Yolan cautioned, "the Imperials may wonder why a transport is leaving here so soon after Vader's arrival. They may demand a search…"

"You are thinking with a guilty mind," Jenniiya countered.

"Indeed he is," Derwhen put in, "A wise approach for your head of security, if I may be so bold as to comment, Manwah. Now," he went on, putting down his half-empty mug of cha, "as much as your hospitality has been delightful, an old man can see when he is imposing."

"Uncle," Jenniiya interrupted.

Derwhen held up his hand. "With respect, Manwah," he interjected, "you have business to deal with. And I should return home."

He grinned at her. "No one will question an old man returning home, if you understand my meaning…" Chuckling, he patted her hand, "As long as the lovely ladies travel in my speeder, of course…"

Knowing that Derwhen was offering to cover for the Rebels leaving, Jenniiya shook her head, "Uncle, I cannot ask this of you…"

"You ask nothing of me," he countered. "It is, instead, I who offer my services. You have guests to be moved, yes?"

Jenniiya nodded, covering his hand with hers, "Yes."

"Then I will afford them protection, as long as the young ladies agree to ride with me," he repeated with a smile. "And if we are stopped, I will claim one of the injured young men as my son, sick with plague." The smile turned to a grin, "I do not believe the Imperials will push the point once plague is mentioned."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Jenniiya couldn't help but laugh softly at the spark of mischief in the older man's eyes. She squeezed his hand, "You are incorrigible, Uncle."

Turning to Yolan, she told him, "Take Chieftain Derwhen home first, then take the pilots to the ship. There is no rush for them to depart. They will not receive their rendezvous coordinates for another few hours."

Yolan bowed, "As ordered, Manwah." Then he turned, heading out of the door, already on his com-link making preparations. He walked towards the stairs, taking them two at a time as he made his way up to the rooms where the Rebels were hidden.

He paused outside the door, waiting for a final acknowledgement from his people before walking into the rooms. Four heads turned towards him.

"How is Aksha?" Yolan asked.

"He came round for a while," Luke told him, "but he's asleep again."

Yolan nodded, asking, "And you, Commander? Are you well enough to move under your own power?"

Pushing himself to his feet, Luke nodded, anticipation fluttering in his stomach. "I am…"

Hobbie and Alissha also got to their feet as Nabrood keyed his com-link, ordering, "We'll need one gurney."

"Are we leaving?" Luke asked.

"You are," Yolan confirmed, wondering how much he should tell them, finally deciding that, in this case, honesty was the best policy. "It is no longer safe to hide you here."

Anticipation turning quickly to dread, Luke glanced at Hobbie then moved towards Nabrood, "Why? What's happened?"

"There is a Star Destroyer in orbit," Yolan supplied. "The _Executor_…"

Hobbie swore, crudely and succinctly. Luke swallowed: cold, hard fear crawling up his spine. "That's Vader's ship…"

Yolan nodded, "Indeed. And a shuttle has been dispatched to the surface," he went on. "It probably holds no more importance than the very public underpinning of the new Governor's power by a high-ranking naval officer, but the Manwah does not wish to take any chances."

Luke nodded. Deep down, instinct was warning him that Nabrood was wrong, that Vader was here for Wedge, but that same instinct also warned him to keep his thoughts to himself: that if he voiced them, nothing would prevent Hobbie and Alissha from knocking Nabrood out of the way and going to get Wedge…

He was terrifyingly close to pushing Nabrood out of the way himself… but the consequences of those actions were even more horrifying than the thought of Vader. Hundreds of innocents would die: men, women and children, cut down where they stood…

An image slammed at him: _two still-smoking carcasses, lying in the sand under scorching twin suns_…

He closed his eyes, fighting back the despair that swamped him, finding himself suddenly unable to get a proper breath…

Yolan caught him as his legs gave way, easing him gently to the floor, Hobbie and Alissha rushing towards them.

"Luke?" Hobbie began.

"I'm… okay…" Luke attempted.

"You are unskilled in the art of lying, my friend," Yolan countered, concerned by the lack of colour in Skywalker's face.

Luke opened his eyes, nodding, admitting, "I'll be okay… in a minute…"

Nabrood gave him a flat look before lifting his gaze to Hobbie. The other pilot shrugged, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Help me get him to a chair?" he asked.

Yolan nodded then, together, he and Hobbie lifted Luke to his feet, carrying the still-protesting pilot over to the chair he'd just vacated. Alissha poured a glass of water, taking it over to Luke, handing it to him as Hobbie and Nabrood moved away.

Unable to stop the slight tremor in his hands, Luke lifted the glass to his mouth, taking a long draw of the cool liquid.

"I'll arrange another gurney," Yolan told Hobbie.

"I'll be fine!" Luke objected. "I just…"

"Haven't slept?" Alissha interrupted. "Haven't eaten?"

"You're just," Hobbie added, "about to be relieved of command!"

"Hobbie…"

"Shut up!" Hobbie told him, flatly, looking at Nabrood. "Do we have far to go?"

"Only to the courtyard," Nabrood supplied. "You will be leaving under the protection of the Kenwa Chieftain."

"Then, if someone can help me carry Luke," Hobbie told him, "we'll only need a stretcher for Brin."

"I'll be fine!" Luke tried again, irritation sparking.

"Shut up!" Hobbie and Alissha both told him in unison.

Yolan nodded to Hobbie, "I will help. Lyn will be here presently with your attire. You are the Kenwa Chieftain's entourage. If you are stopped, he will claim Brin is his son, suffering from plague. It is doubtful anyone will look further…"

"Plague ought to do it," Hobbie agreed.

oo0oo

Oston stood at the door of the Governor's building, waiting as the shuttle descended onto the landing area. The foils folding, the landing gear extended and the shuttle settled gently onto the ground. The engines spooled down.

Oston moved forward, walking past the assembled ranks of stormtroopers. The shuttle's ramp extended slowly and Oston got his first sight of the black-clad Sith Lord. It took all the strength Oston had not to take a step back as Vader strode towards him. He swallowed, forcing a smile, greeting, "Lord Vader…"

"You have the Rebel, Governor?" Vader demanded.

Oston swallowed again, realising that he wasn't going to be able to delay the Dark Lord. "Antilles is being held in a facility in the city," he told Vader. "The cells of the manor of a local dignitary, in fact… It was the Manwah's people who arrested him," he finished.

"Take me there!" Vader ordered.

"Yes," Oston oozed, "Yes, of course. This way, Lord Vader. I have transport waiting…"

He dropped into step beside Vader, briefing the Dark Lord on the situation as they walked towards the waiting speeder. "The Manwah and her people have been most accommodating and supportive, Lord Vader. Initially I was informed of the Rebels' arrival, and the possibility that the Manwah's people were hiding them. The Manwah had, indeed, taken them in, but only on the pretence of aiding them. She handed them over to us as soon as she could."

He smiled, remembering Aksha's reaction. "The Rebels were most annoyed when they discovered their trust had been misplaced."

They had reached Oston's ground-transport, and Oston held back, allowing Vader to enter first. The door hissed closed as Oston settled himself, crossing his legs and clasping his hands on his lap.

In the confined space, the sound of Vader's mechanical breathing was louder, more ominous. Oston briefly considered launching into a further update … then decided against it. If Vader had any questions, Oston had no doubt he would ask them.

The transport lifted slowly into the air, setting course towards the Manwah's manor.

Thankful that the Governor's chatter had ceased, Vader reached out through the Force, searching for his son… finding him easily... _Grief, anger and anticipation tumbled together with exhaustion and pain and… guilt…_

The Force resonated through him: raw, untutored and powerful…

Vader smiled at the sheer potential of it. _You will not escape me again, my son_…

Turning, he told Oston, "Lock down the planet! No ships are to depart until I give the order!"

Stunned, Oston looked at him, "But Lord Vader…"

"Lock down the planet!"

"Lord Vader, I must protest!" Oston tried again, already envisioning the angry representations that he would be forced to contend with from Gehndaarian trade sectors and intergalactic transport companies.

"Your concerns are noted, Governor," Vader told him. "Now issue the order or I will have it issued on your behalf!"

oo0oo

Jenniiya watched from a window three floors above as the landspeeders pulled into the courtyard. Lyn escorted the white-haired figure of Derwhen Kenwa to the first speeder, talking to him for a few moments until Yolan appeared. Then she bowed deeply to Derwhen and moved back inside.

From one of the side doors, two figures appeared, moving towards Yolan and Derwhen. They were dressed in intricately embroidered robes, borrowed from Jenniiya's own wardrobe, and wore matching concubine-veils. The sheer material was an ancient tradition, still seen occasionally, even in the city. It hailed from a time before the Cartel had united the clans, when the consort of the Chieftain had worn exactly the same head-covering as his or her bodyguards, to make assassination more difficult.

In this case, it served another purpose. If Derwhen's entourage was stopped by Imperial troops, it would prevent the Rebels being immediately recognised.

Yolan was introducing Alissha and Lainey to the Kenwa Chieftain. True to form, the older man turned on the charm and Jenniiya smiled as she watched him take each of their hands and kiss their fingers.

Behind them, Gage pushed a gravsled out into the courtyard. Brin lay on it, covered in a blanket. He was awake and had broth in his belly, but the after-effects of the drug Vezlentz had given him had left him shivering and unable to see properly. Yolan had decided it was easier to stretcher him out.

The other two Rebels followed the sled out into the courtyard. Dressed in robes borrowed from Yolan, dark veils covering their heads, Luke moved slowly, but walked on his own, Hobbie hovering close beside him. Jenniiya watched as Luke stood, waiting until Brin was loaded into the second speeder, waiting until Alissha and Lainey had climber into the speeder beside Derwhen. Then he turned, glancing back at the doorway before allowing Hobbie to help him into the speeder beside Brin.

Her com-link chirped and she answered it.

"Manwah," Lyn warned her. "Governor Oston has just arrived! The Lord Darth Vader is with him!"

Swearing, Jenniiya turned away from the window, moving along the corridor, telling her, "I'm on my way! Show them into the reception room!"

In the courtyard, three floors below, Yolan also swore, acknowledging the warning from Zren. He turned, telling Barylo and the driver, "Go! Go now!"

Then he stepped back, watching the covered speeders pull out of the courtyard and into the streets of the Gehndaarian capitol. Turning to Gage, he ordered, "Keep your ears and eyes open. The Governor is back. With Vader!"

oo0oo

Darth Vader paused on the steps of the Diazez manor, the impression of his son suddenly strong and clear. The Dark Lord's hand drifted up towards his breast-plate, lingering there for a moment. Pain radiated out through his chest…

…_the weapon discharged into his heart_…

So that, at least, had been true.

Oston reached the top of the steps, glancing back at Vader before turning to the Manwah's assistant as she moved to welcome them. Behind her, in the foyer, Ljana Castell stood smartly to attention.

"Governor," Lyn greeted. "Welcome. The Manwah has been told of your arrival. She is on her way down…"

"Indeed she is," Oston returned, walking past Lyn towards Jenniiya as he saw her appear at the top of the stairs.

Jenniiyah gave him a wide smile, "Governor Oston!" Holding out her hand to him, as she reached him, she teased gently, "You are a little early for our luncheon…"

Oston bowed stiffly, kissing her hand, turning to introduce Vader as the Dark Lord strode into the foyer. "Manwah, allow me to present…"

To his annoyance, Vader ignored him completely. Instead, the Dark Lord marchedacross to Castell, demanding, "Antilles?"

Ljana had heard of the Dark Lord of the Sith, but until now she had never met him in person. His ominous presence swamped her and she swallowed, resisting the temptation to glance at Oston, nodding instead to Vader and telling him, "This way, Lord Vader."

She turned, leading him towards the steps down to the cells.

Lips pressed into a tight, indignant line of embarrassment and annoyance, Oston watched them go then turned to Jenniiya. "Manwah, my sincere apologies…"

Jenniiya rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, assuring him, "No apology is necessary, Governor. We were aware that the _Executor_ had entered orbit. Your arrival is not unexpected."

She took his arm, guiding him towards the reception room, "Is Lord Vader here to oversee the Rebel's interrogation?"

Oston glanced back at the steps before telling her quietly, "He has been sent by the Emperor to collect Antilles."

"Manwah?" Lyn interrupted.

Jenniiya turned, looking at her. Lyn bowed, telling her, "Chieftain Derwhen has departed for the Kenwa lands…"

"Derwhen," Oston repeated, trying to place the name. "Is he the man you sold Downhigher to?"

Tension tightened in the base of Jenniiya's spine, but she covered it with a gracious smile, confirming, "He is."

"He wasn't bringing her back, was he?"

Jenniiya heard the slight undertone in Oston's voice. Wondering what was concerning Oston about Downhigher's possible return, she shook her head, supplying, "He was not, Governor. He came to negotiate her release…"

Oston visibly relaxed. Glancing at the stairs once more, he assured her, "There is no need for negotiation, Manwah. Discretion is, I have always believed, the better part of enterprising experience. Rather than having to surmount inconvenient attitudes, my report to the Emperor confirmed Downhigher as dead…"

"Governor," Jenniiya told him, laying her hand gently on his arm, "You are indeed a good friend to the Diazez Cartel…"


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15

Vader followed the Lieutenant Colonel along the bare, stone corridor of the detention area towards the cell where Antilles was being held. Two stormtoopers stood rigidly to attention either side of a door and Castell paused in front of them, stepping into the cell as the door slid open. Vader followed her through, pausing just inside the cell.

"Antilles is still in isolation, Lord Vader," Castell told him, indicating the tank. "We…"

"What is your intent, Lieutenant Colonel?" Vader interrupted.

"Mind-wipe, my Lord," she supplied, then hesitated, wondering how much information to give Vader, continuing finally, "Governor Oston believed it would be a considerable blow to Rebel morale if Antilles were to publicly announce Skywalker's death before denouncing Rebel politics."

"The Governor is mistaken in his former assumption," Vader told her, "although the ruse may still work."

Castell frowned, not understanding, "My Lord?"

"Antilles lied to you," Vader supplied. "Skywalker is not dead."

"My Lord," Castell defended, worry beginning to settle deep in her belly, "the report of Skywalker's death did not come from Antilles. It came from the Diazez Manwah. I have not questioned Antilles on the subject of Skywalker."

"Indeed," Vader observed. Confirmation had come from the Diazez leader, and his son's presence had strengthened as he approached the Diazez manor… The Cartel's loyalty was obviously not as unquestionable as Oston believed.

"Then we shall question him now," Vader ordered. "Take him out!"

The two officers in the cell with Castell moved in. They lifted the Rebel out, carrying him across to the chains that hung from the roof. Castell stepped in, securing his wrists to the chains before undoing the respirator and lifting the mask away from his face.

Lekk and Oston let him go. Castell slipped the blindfold off of his eyes.

Vader said nothing, moving to stand in front of the pilot, using the Force to lift the Rebel's head so that he could see his face. Antilles was close to complete physical and mental collapse. He could sense the exhaustion… the confusion…

He would have to be careful…

Wedge hung against the chains, aware that someone was holding his head. There was a sound, too, that he couldn't place: a deep, even, regular hiss. Frowning, he dragged his eyes open. A shadow loomed in front of him: solid and black…

The unfamiliar sound was coming from the shadow…

Deep in the back of his mind, panic stirred. Clouded by the terrors of isolation, the panic died before he could acknowledge it. Starved of external contact, craving any outside influence to stave off insanity, Wedge's mind discarded the menace and fear, focussing simply on the euphoria of sight and sound after the seclusion of darkness and silence.

Vader considered Antilles for a moment longer then, carefully manipulating the Force to take advantage of the Rebel's undermined mental state, he ordered, "You will tell me where Skywalker is!"

Antilles hesitated. Then, voice slurred, he told Vader, "I… don't know…"

"Was he killed by the bounty hunters?" Vader pushed.

"Yes…"

The answer brought Vader up short, but then the Rebel went on, "They got him back… CPR…"

"So he was brought here alive?"

Again, there was a moment's hesitation and this time Vader saw the doubt that crawled across Antilles' face, sensed the reticence that was slowly beginning to build as bonds of friendship began to push memories into the void that the isolation had left in Antilles' mind.

"Was Skywalker brought here alive?" Vader demanded.

Wedge frowned. An insistent little voice was telling him to say nothing: that Luke would be in danger if he answered… but he couldn't remember why…

_There was a pretty woman… and another pretty woman… and the big man with the scars… and…_

"My Lord," Ljana offered, "Perhaps he would respond better to a more familiar voice…"

Vader turned, looking at her, saying nothing, but stepping back to allow her in. She moved forward. Antilles' head had dropped back against his chest and she lifted his chin, gently caressing his jaw with her fingers.

"Lieutenant Commander?" she called softly. "Wedge? Look at me!"

When his eyes remained closed, she tightened her grip on his jaw, barking, "Look at me, Lieutenant Commander!"

He dragged his eyes open, focussing slowly.

"Luke is dying," Castell told him, her voice filled with apparent concern. "His heart is failing! It is within your power to save him! Was he here? Under this roof? Tell me, Wedge! Was he here?"

Memories pushed their way into Wedge's mind. _There was a beep of a monitor… attached to… attached to… Luke…_

"_Get clear, Wedge... You can't do any good back there…"_

"Was Skywalker here?" Vader demanded, knowing that he was running out of time. Each second was taking Luke further from him. "Was he alive?"

The Rebel hesitated a moment longer then, softly, he supplied, "Yes…"

oo0oo

Yolan swore, watching the displays as Vader turned, striding out of the cell and moving back along the corridor. "Tell Lyn there's trouble!" he ordered, pushing himself to his feet, heading out of the room and down to the foyer. By the time he reached it, Vader was striding across the marble floor towards the open door of the reception room where Jenniiya was entertaining Oston.

"Ah, Lord Vader!" Oston greeted. "May I…"

"You have been misinformed!" Vader cut in.

"Lord Vader…" Oston began, irritation flaring.

"Skywalker is alive!" Vader continued.

Fear stabbed through Jenniiya. She fought to keep it from showing on her face, to keep her breathing calm and even. Her mind raced, trying to find a way out of the deteriorating situation.

Oston blinked, not quite believing what he was hearing. "What?"

"I need silent back-up!" Yolan ordered softly into his com-link, walking across to stand in the open doorway of the reception room. He had no idea how Jenniiya was going to react, but he was determined to be ready for whatever she ordered.

"Skywalker was not killed by the bounty hunters!" Vader accused. "He was alive and was brought here! The Cartel are not the loyal supporters you suppose them to be! They are Rebel sympathisers and have aided in Skywalker's escape!"

Oston shot to his feet, trembling in anger. "Lord Vader! This is outrageous! May I remind you that I questioned the bounty hunters myself! And the Manwah handed over Antilles and Aksha to us for interrogation! You are the one who has been misinformed!"

"With respect, Governor," Lieutenant Colonel Castell countered calmly, stepping past Yolan into the reception room. "Having accepted the Manwah's assertion that Skywalker was dead, neither Antilles nor Aksha were questioned about him. Under Lord Vader's interrogation, Antilles has just confirmed that Skywalker is indeed alive and was here in this building."

Behind Yolan, as Oston turned slowly to look at Jenniiya, Gage swore softly. Yolan glanced round, looking at the men and women who had appeared in the foyer, ready to defend the Manwah, ready to defend the Cartel. They would willingly take down Oston, Castell and Vader, hide the bodies and lie, even under interrogation, about what had happened to all three.

They would willingly sacrifice themselves for the Cartel… because every one of them knew of the chaos that had reigned before the Cartel had brought the clans together.

Yolan turned back: looking at Jenniiya, at the Imperials, whose attention was now focussed on her.

He was sworn to protect her, sworn to protect the Cartel… Closing his eyes, swallowing, he knew what he had to do.

Reaching for his blaster belt, he unbuckled it, turning and handing it to Gage. The younger man looked at him, looked at the belt and blaster in his hands, then looked back at Yolan. Eyes wide, he shook his head, realising what Yolan was about to do.

Ignoring the look on Gage's face, Yolan stepped forward, peeling off his jerkin and tossing it towards the edge of the room as he walked towards Jenniiya. "The Manwah has no blame in this," he announced. "The fault lies with me alone."

Gage swore softly, buckling on Yolan's belt. Pulling the blaster from its holster, he held it loosely in his hand, muzzle pointed towards the floor as he followed Yolan into the room.

Jenniiya looked round. Clenching her jaw as she saw Yolan, she fought to keep her face neutral. Honouring the ancient tradition of surrender, presenting himself bare-chested and without a weapon to defend himself, Yolan stopped in front of her, sinking slowly to his knees.

"Forgive me, Manwah. I have betrayed your trust…"

Jenniiya rose to her feet, fighting back the emotion that threatened to swamp her. Yolan Nabrood was sacrificing himself for her error in judgement. Closing her eyes, swallowing, she demanded, "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

Yolan dropped his head supplying simply, "I regret, Manwah. I cannot tell you that."

Vader moved, catching Nabrood by the throat, hoisting him easily into the air. Gage brought the blaster up, only to find himself flying backward across the reception room as some, unseen force hit him square in the chest.

Gasping in shock, Jenniiya stepped back. The other security personnel started forward and, anxiety sparking as she saw them move, knowing that the situation could quickly dissolve into a melee that would solve nothing, she held her hand up, stopping them.

"Where is Skywalker?" Vader demanded.

Yolan choked for breath, fingers clawing at the gloved hand clamped around his throat. Across the room, Gage climbed to his feet.

"Where is Skywalker?" Vader repeated.

Yolan said nothing, concentrating simply on trying to breath, knowing that anything he did say might condemn the Manwah and the Cartel.

"I grow tired of these games!" Vader warned, tightening his grip. "You will tell me where Skywalker is or I will have this house ripped apart to find him!"

Jenniiya's anxiety turned to dread. If Imperial soldiers forced their way into the manor, the chieftains would see it as a sign of weakness and call for her removal as Manwah. The Cartel would dissolve into chaos: turmoil that she had no doubt Oston would take advantage of, either by stepping in to take control or by giving her back-up but forcing her to become his puppet.

Refusing to allow any of that to happen, Jenniiya took a deep breath then stepped forward. "Lord Vader," she told him calmly, "you and your men are most welcome to search the manor… I assure you, if Skywalker is here he will leave under your authority."

"Lord Vader!" Oston warned, aware of the armed Diazez people at his back, sickened by the sound of the cracking noises coming from Nabrood's neck, concerned by the deepening colour of the man's face. "The planet is in lock-down! The Rebel cannot leave! And there are other ways to question that man!"

Turning, Vader threw Nabrood away, sending him crashing into a display unit at the side of the room. He advanced on Oston, ordering, "Have him taken to my ship! Rip this place apart!"

"Skywalker is not here…" Yolan choked out.

Vader stopped.

Jenniiya forced herself not to move as she watched Yolan climb unsteadily to his feet. He tried to draw himself to his full height but his breath caught in his chest and a flash of pain crossed his face. Fists clenched, he wiped at a trickle of blood that coursed down his chin, rasping, "I had him moved yesterday, when the Manwah handed over Aksha and Antilles…"

Jenniiya walked across to him. Voice soft, she asked, "Where is he?"

Yolan refused to look at her. Instead he shook his head, "I regret, Manwah, I cannot…."

Oston was surprised at how much power there was in the blow that the Manwah aimed at Yolan's jaw. It whipped his head around, sending him stumbling backwards. Quirking an eyebrow, finding a new respect for the Manwah, Oston watched as Jenniiya turned, looking past him to where Lieutenant Colonel Castell stood.

"I give him to you!" Jenniiya told Castell. "Do whatever you must, but leave enough of him for me to hang!"

Castell glanced at Oston, then looked at Vader.

Oston turned, looking at the Dark Lord of the Sith. "A compromise, Lord Vader, if that meets with your approval?"

Vader knew the Diazez man had not been lying when he said that Luke was no longer here. He also knew that the Diazez man was his only hope of finding out where Luke was being hidden. The sooner he moved, the closer he was to having his son within his grasp.

Turning to Castell, he ordered, "You will concentrate your efforts on Antilles! I will question the traitor myself!"

Castell saluted, acknowledging, "Yes, My Lord."

Jenniiya turned to Gage, ordering, "Take Nabrood to the cells!"

Gage glanced at Yolan then looked back at his Manwah, nodding assent. He walked across the ornately tiled floor, stopping in front of Yolan. Nabrood looked beyond him, to the Manwah, holding her eyes for a long moment. Then, holding his ribs, he stepped past Gage, limping towards the foyer.

oo0oo

Hobbie reached over, gently shaking Luke out of his doze as the landspeeders drew to a halt in, what appeared to be, the middle of nowhere. Luke blinked awake, rubbing his hand across his face, asking, "We there?"

"No," Hobbie told him, frowning. "Looks like the security bloke is bringing Lainey and Alissha back here…"

"Nabrood only said we were leaving under the other Chieftain's protection," Luke suggested, worry fluttering in his stomach. "Maybe this is the plan… to separate…"

"Maybe Vader's changed their plans," Hobbie put in.

"That's our Hobbie," Brin quipped, "always the optimist…"

"The other speeder's pulling off…" Hobbie supplied.

Luke turned, watching the speeder leave. He turned back as the door opened and Lainey climbed in.

"What's going on?" Luke asked.

"They've changed the plan," Lainey told him, drawing the veil off of her head.

"Told you!" Hobbie pointed out.

"They're taking us straight to the ship," Alissha supplied, climbing in to sit beside Brin.

Behind her, Barylo leant in. "The Manwah's apologies, but events require a change in plans…"

"What's going on?" Luke asked.

Barylo looked at him. "Yolan Nabrood has been arrested," he supplied. "The Imperials have discovered that Skywalker is alive and have locked-down the planet. Nothing can leave without Imperial sanction. You are to be taken straight to the ship and await further instructions."

He paused, then continued, "The Manwah regrets it may be necessary for you to leave at short notice and run the blockade… Now," he went on, "we must move."

Barylo stepped back, moving to the driver's cab, the door closing behind him.

Hobbie swore, crudely and succinctly. Luke sank back against the seat, numb.

"But…" Lainey began, as the speeder pulled away, "we can't leave at short notice! What about Wedge? What if they don't get him out before we have to leave?"

She looked from Luke, to Hobbie, to Alissha. "We can't leave before they get Wedge out!"

Closing his eyes, Luke swallowed down the emotion in his throat, a hollow ache settling in his chest. He opened his mouth, closing it again, not trusting his voice. The Imperials knew that he was still alive and Wedge had been sacrificed to save him and the rest of the squad…

"They're not going to get him out, Lainey…" Hobbie told her gently; gut wrenching as he finally had to admit the truth to himself as well as her.

She shook her head, "But… but they said…"

Swallowing again to free the restriction in his throat, his voice stronger and calmer than he had expected, Luke told her, "They said that so we would leave quietly."

"No…" She shook her head. "No… They said… They said they were working on getting him out! Nabrood said…"

She trailed off, remembering Barylo's words. _Yolan Nabrood has been arrested._

"Oh, gods..."

Lainey reached out, putting her arm around the younger woman, drawing her close, saying nothing.

oo0oo

Vader backhanded the Diazez traitor across the face, sending him stumbling against the wall. The man groaned in pain, sinking to his knees for a moment before trying to climb back to his feet.

Vader reached out through the Force, lifting him, trapping him against the cell wall.

Pain expanded into agony as the unseen pressure forced Yolan against the wall, snapping ribs already cracked by being thrown into the display unit. He clenched his jaw, concentrating simply on breathing.

Yolan was not a man unaccustomed to pain. This was not the first time he had put his life on the line for the Manwah or the Cartel. His body bore the scars of his loyalty not just to Jenniiya, but to her father. It wasn't the first time he had been beaten to loosen his tongue either. He knew what he could endure; he knew how long it would take for physical pain to break him.

And his torture would be nothing compared to what the young Rebel pilot had had to endure, was still having to endure at the hands of the ISB Lieutenant Colonel.

Yolan knew that all he needed to do was keep silent until nightfall, when Skywalker was due to contact the Rebel Alliance for the rendezvous coordinates. Then the Rebels would be gone…

He heard the cell door open and the low thrum of a droid. Unable to stop the flare of fear that coursed through him, he opened his eyes, looking at the interrogation droid as it moved into the cell and floated towards him.

"Where is Skywalker?"

Held immobile against the wall, pain flaring with every breath, Yolan dragged his eyes away from the droid, looking at the Dark Lord of the Sith. "I regret, I cannot…"

"Your lies have already been discovered," Vader countered, closing his fist, watching the agony contort the man's face. "Skywalker was not moved last night! He was here when I arrived! Where have you had him taken?"

Yolan fought to breathe, swamped by the pain that expanded through him. It receded enough to allow him to drag in a ragged breath. "I regret… I cannot answer…"

Vader held him as the droid moved in.

Yolan felt the hypodermic slide into his arm, felt the cold liquid flowing into his veins. He knew better than to struggle. Fighting back would only push the drug around his system more quickly.

The droid withdrew the needle, moving away.

Vader let Nabrood go, stepping forward as the Diazez man crumpled to the floor.

Yolan lay, unable to breathe properly, tasting blood in his mouth, bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming.

"Where is Skywalker?"

"I regret…"

Vader reached down, dragging him up by the throat, slamming him against the wall. "You will tell me where Skywalker is," the Dark Lord warned, "or I will have the Diazez Cartel declared traitors and this place torn apart brick by brick!"

Letting him go, he stepped away as the Diazez man crashed to the floor. Looking down at him, reaching out through the Force, Vader closed his fist, watching the man arch back against the pain. "Where is Skywalker?"

oo0oo

Too exhausted to move, Wedge lay on his side on the cold of the stone floor. He knew who he was, he knew that something terrible had happened, but beyond that his memories were elusive. Starved of external contact, he soaked in the audio recording playing in the cell. The words flowed around him, filling the void.

…_but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over! The Separatists have been defeated… and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled!_

_We stand on the threshold of a new beginning._

_In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society which I assure you will last for ten thousand years. An empire that will continue to be ruled by this august body and a sovereign ruler chosen for life… _

Wedge flinched as hands touched his shoulders, fear coursing through him. He started to resist, terrified of being thrown back into darkness and silence.

_An empire ruled by the majority…_

Lieutenant Colonel Castell calmed Antilles with gentle hands, caressing his arm, telling him softly, "Easy, easy. It's okay… Sit up…"

_Ruled by a new constitution…_

She helped him up, easing him back to lean against her, putting a small flask of water to his lips. He drank greedily and she allowed him to drain the flask. Handing it back to Lekk, she took a piece of fijg from him, offering it to Antilles.

He ate it without question.

As he swallowed, she caressed his hair, ordering, "Name and rank!"

There was a moment's hesitation then, voice slurred, he told her, "Antilles... Wedge… Lieutenant Commander…"

"Good," she told him. "Very good… Now, tell me, were you responsible for the death of Imperial forces at Yavin?"

This time there was no hesitation. "Yes…"

"Were you involved in the Rebel Alliance attack on the Seinar ship yards?"

"Yes…"

"Thank you for your honesty, Lieutenant Commander," Ljana told him. Then, testing the conditioning, she asked, "What is the fate of the Rebel Alliance?"

Wedge frowned, conflicting emotions washing through him as elusive memories tried to push through the fog, dissolving as soon as he tried to focus on them. He began to panic, knowing that he had to give the right answer. If he didn't give the right answer, there would be silence and darkness…

"What is the fate of your new Republic, Lieutenant Commander?" Ljana pushed.

_Without the Jedi to keep the peace, it will collapse in chaos… their new Republic is doomed to failure…_

"Failure…" Wedge supplied.

Smiling, trading a satisfied look with Lekk, Castell pushed, "Why is the Rebel Alliance doomed to failure, Lieutenant Commander?"

Wedge floundered, panicking, memories sweeping in and swamping him.

…_the Rebellion was founded on lies, founded by those who resented Palpatine's power, who sided with Jedi in their attempt to assassinate him…_

_They turned on the Jedi, son, shot them down without warning…_

_The Jedi hadn't destroyed the Republic. They had died trying to save it… They had been betrayed by the Emperor… _

_Get clear, Wedge... You can't do any good back there…_

Memories solidifying into tangible recollections of loyalty and friendship that drowned the lies, he drew in a shuddering breath, his answer defiant.

_Get clear, Wedge…_

"Antilles… Wedge… Lieutenant Commander…"

Castell nodded. It was too early for the conditioning to have taken full effect, but the process was working. Climbing to her feet, she ordered, "Put him back in the tank!"

The scream of denial from the Rebel took her by surprise. She watched as he panicked, trying to scramble away, fighting Lekk and Sondu as they tried to grasp hold of him. He kicked out, catching Lekk in the chest, sending the officer reeling backwards.

Castell grabbed at the shockstick, sweeping it round and stabbing down. It glanced off the Rebel's hip and she lifted the shockstick again, aiming for his chest, bring it down hard.

Fire ripped along Wedge's nerves. He arched against it, a scream clogging in his throat, darkness flowing in from edge of his vision. Then the agony was gone, leaving him gasping for breath and trembling on the floor.

Kneeling, grasping his jaw, turning his head, Castell demanded, "Look at me!"

The Rebel opened his eyes, focussing slowly on her.

"What is the fate of your new Republic?"

When he hesitated, she warned him, "Answer me or I'll throw you back in the tank! What is the fate of the new Republic?"

Terror of being immersed in the silence and darkness drove the last remnants of defiance away. Unable to think beyond anything else, Wedge closed his eyes, supplying, "Failure…"

She let him go, backhanding him across the face, ordering, "Look at me!"

When he opened his eyes, she grabbed his jaw again, demanding, "Why is the Rebel Alliance doomed to failure, Lieutenant Commander?"

He hesitated and she hit him across the face again, barking, "Answer me! Why is the Rebel Alliance doomed to failure?"

She pulled her hand back to hit him again.

"Jedi," he moaned.

She dropped her hand, watching him as he went on, "Only the Jedi held the Old Republic together.Without them the Rebel Alliance will only bring civil war…"

"And how can that be averted?" she pushed.

He closed his eyes, swallowing, supplying, "The Empire… The Empire will ensure a safe and secure society… which will last… ruled by the majority… ruled by the constitution… ruled by a sovereign body chosen for life…"


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16

Yolan lay on the stone floor of the cell, sucking air into his lungs through clenched teeth, grunting softly as his broken ribs protested the movement.

Vader stepped back, frustrated. The man appeared to be unaffected by the Mind Probe, simply repeating one phrase over and over again. _I regret, I cannot answer that question_.

Pain and drugs were not going to break the man. Only exhaustion was going to make him talk, and that took time. Luke would be unable to leave the planet, but the more time that passed the more difficult it was going to be to locate his son. Right now he could still be within the confines of the city: in another two hours he could be anywhere… by which point Palpatine would be demanding to know why Vader wasn't on his way to Coruscant with Antilles.

Antilles...

Vader smiled coldly. Reaching down, he dragged the Diazez traitor up, hauling him across the cell, out into the corridor and along to the cell where Antilles was being held.

Castell turned from the read-outs as the door opened, watching as Vader all but threw Yolan Nabrood into the cell. "Where is Antilles?" Vader demanded.

"In the tank, my Lord," Castell supplied.

"Take him out!" Vader ordered. "Chain him up!"

Lekk and Sondu were already moving, lifting the Rebel out of the tank, carrying him across to the chains. Castell followed them, unfastening Antilles' restraints, wrapping the chain around his wrists. She and Lekk held him as Sondu hoisted him. Then Castell removed the respiration mask and blindfold, stepping back.

Antilles swung gently on the chains, his feet barely reaching the ground.

Vader turned. Reaching out through the Force, he lifted Nabrood from the floor, trapping him against the wall. "Where is Skywalker?"

As expected, the man responded, "I regret… I cannot answer that question…"

Vader stepped towards him. "You will answer the question," he told Nabrood, "or your Rebel friend will suffer the consequences!"

Yolan opened his eyes, horror settling deep in his belly. He looked across at the young pilot hanging motionless from the chains. It was one thing to accept punishment for himself, it was completely another to accept that punishment when it was being meted out to someone else. And yet, he doubted Antilles would forgive him if he gave up Skywalker, no matter what the reason.

Gaze locked on Antilles, pain flaring as he tried to breathe, Yolan answered, "I regret, I cannot answer…"

It would have been easy to close his eyes, to look away as the Imperial officer lifted the shockstick and stabbed it against Antilles' unprotected back. It would have been easy to look away as Antilles' body convulsed against the chains, a scream choking in his throat.

Yolan refused to look away: silently vowing to avenge the torment being endured by the young Rebel pilot; promising to ensure that Antilles' name was remembered in the halls of the honoured.

Only when Vader turned did Yolan draw his eyes away from Antilles and look at the Dark Lord of the Sith.

"Where is Skywalker?"

"I regret… I cannot answer that question…"

oo0oo

Jenniiya sighed as the com-unit chimed, wondering what news was going to be delivered now. She took a deep breath, and then answered. "Yes?"

"Manwah," Gage's voice supplied, "there is a bounty hunter here seeking audience with Nabrood…"

Jenniiya slumped back in the chair. She'd had more than enough of bounty hunters for the moment. "Was the appointment scheduled?"

"No, Manwah… but…"

Jenniiya said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"He said that I should tell Nabrood, _so'shanti ye man ll'el_"

Jenniiya sat up straight. That was ancient Gehndaarian. It meant "Power to those who empower themselves." It was also the code phrase that they had arranged to confirm their identity to the Rebel pilots at the hotel. Was this bounty hunter actually someone the Rebel Alliance had sent in response to the message about the pilots being attacked?

"Escort them up!" she ordered. "Tell Lyn to join us!"

"At once, Manwah!"

Jenniiya sank back in the chair again, rubbing her face with her hands. There was very little about today that could get much worse… The Rebel pilots were, at least, safely tucked away aboard the Gribbs' ship. They would be ready to go at a moment's notice.

The planet, however, was on lock-down. Nothing could leave without Imperial authority. The Rebels would have to run the gauntlet of the _Executor_ and however many TIE fighters were aboard the ship. Although, if this bounty hunter was Rebel allied, there would be two ships for the _Executor_ to take on. That, at least, would give them a fighting chance.

She smiled, remembering Hobbie's words. _Put me in a ship and there's a damned good probability I can fly it_. Between him and the other pilots, Skywalker, she considered, was in safe hands.

Her thoughts slid back to Yolan and the remaining Rebel pilot.

Yolan had been drugged and beaten. He hadn't told Vader anything but Jenniiya knew that it was only a matter of time before the pain or the exhaustion took their toll. Yolan had proven his loyalty to the Cartel on more than one occasion. This was not the first time he had been subjected to adverse treatment at the hands of the Cartel's adversaries…

She stopped that train of thought, reminding herself that the Empire was not the enemy. The Chieftain Council had chosen to remain neutral. She was the one who had brought this sequence of events to the door of the Cartel. She was the one who had chosen to supply the Rebel Alliance with Incom fighters.

Yolan was suffering for her decisions, for her sins.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself, pushing away the negativity and preparing herself to meet this bounty hunter, whoever he was. She retrieved a mirror from her desk drawer, smoothing down her hair and applying her lip colour before putting everything back in the drawer.

The door chimed and Jenniiya turned to her data display, calling, "Enter!"

Gage escorted the bounty hunter into the room.

Jenniiya turned, looking at the slender figure in front of her. Head to toe in body armour, the bounty hunter barely reached Gage's shoulder. Quirking an eyebrow, knowing better than to judge simply by stature, Jenniiya sat back in the chair, clasping her hands on her lap. His head was completely covered in a helmet that obviously fed whichever atmosphere he breathed from a small tank attached to his chest-plate.

"Manwah," Gage introduced, "may I present Ranna Sahj…"

Smiling, Jenniiya told the hunter, "Welcome to my home. And please, accept my sincere apologies, but Yolan Nabrood is unavailable. However, I will negotiate on his behalf if that is acceptable to you?"

"Organa said I should negotiate only with Nabrood," the bounty hunter's metallic, rasping voice told her.

Jenniiya made no acknowledgement of the codeword that confirmed that Ranna Sahj was, indeed, working for the Rebel Alliance. Instead, she asked, "And why should I be interested in what Organa says?"

There was a moment's hesitation then Sahj reached up, twisting and disengaging the breather tube. Taking hold of the helmet, Sahj lifted it free of his head.

Jenniiya rose to her feet, recognising the face that was revealed…

"Because I am Leia Organa, Manwah, and I am here on behalf of the Rebel Alliance in response to the message you sent about the compromised mission."

Heart leaping into her mouth, Jenniiya looked past the Princess to Gage, ordering, "No one comes in here except you and Lyn!"

Gage bowed deeply, turning on his heel and walking out of the room. Jenniiya moved across to Leia. "Forgive my ill manners, your Highness, but it is unsafe for you to be here."

Leia gave her a reassuring smile, "I have taken precautions…"

"No," Jenniiya interrupted, "you do not understand. The situation has deteriorated rapidly since our message was sent to you. We have been unable to advise you of the turn of events, but it is imperative that you leave here now."

Leia considered the information for a moment then countered, calmly, "I understand, Manwah, but I must confirm the situation before..."

"Vader is here," Jenniiya told her.

Leia nodded, "We saw the _Executor_ when…."

"No, your Highness," Jenniiya corrected, "Vader is here, in this building!"

Cold, hard fear crawled up Leia's spine. Memories flooded through her: of Vader looming over her as she stood trapped between him and the malevolence of Moff Tarkin. She pushed them away, swallowing, taking a deep, calming breath. "I see…"

Jenniiya saw the emotion that filtered across the Princess' face. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Jenniiya remembered Yolan telling her father something about the Princess' ship being apparently destroyed in a meteor attack, but the Princess having been a prisoner on the Death Star.

Had this young woman been subjected to the same treatment that Yolan was now suffering at the hands of Vader?

The concept horrified Jenniiya. Despite everything that had happened over the past few days, the thought of this slender, diminutive woman standing up to the overwhelming presence of Vader, confirmed for Jenniiya that her decision to supply the Rebel Alliance with military hardware had been the right one. It may all have gone wrong, but her decision had been sound. The Cartel could no longer remain neutral.

Leia was smiling, but Jenniiya saw the residual fear lurking in the Princess' eyes. "That does make things a little more difficult," Leia told Jenniiya, "but, as I said, I must confirm the situation. Then we can decide on a course of action…"

Jenniiya sighed in frustration, realising that she wasn't going to be able to simply push the Princess out of the door. Part of her was exasperated: another part of her acknowledged and honoured Leia's daring.

"Forgive me, your highness," she told Leia. "You are, of course, right. Please, sit, and I will give you a full over view of what occurred and what has transpired since then…"

"How badly injured are the pilots?" Leia asked, coming straight to business as she followed the Manwah across the room and sank onto a sofa.

Jenniiya sat opposite her. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning," she evaded, explaining about the bounty hunters acting without Cartel sanction, kidnapping Antilles and Downhigher, and attacking Skywalker.

"The shockstick discharged into his heart…"

She trailed off, watching the colour drain from Leia's face. Standing, crossing to her desk to pour a glass of water, she continued, "There was damage to his heart, however my personal physician operated and repaired the injury."

Pouring the water, she went on, "Dr Vezlentz anticipates a full recovery."

She turned, walking back to Leia, offering her the glass.

"And the others?" Leia asked, relieved to hear that Luke would recover. She accepted the glass, taking a drink.

"Klivian, Aksha and Callen were unharmed," Jenniiya told her, sitting opposite her again. "Downhigher has bruising to her face, but no serious injury…"

Leia was a diplomat. She was used to reading people. She was aware that the Manwah was hiding something. Now, realising that the Manwah had not mentioned Wedge Antilles or Haniff-Brin Aksha, she assumed it had to their injuries. Worry gnawing at her stomach, she asked, "Lieutenant Commander Antilles? And Lieutenant Aksha?"

Jenniiya refused to look away, refused to avoid the anger she knew she was about to see in the Princess' face.

"The Governor confronted us," she began. "He knew your people were being hidden here. We were able to save Skywalker by informing the Governor that he had died in the attack; and Downhigher by intimating that she had been sold as a slave. Governor Oston knew nothing of Klivian or Callen…"

She paused then continued, "I am sorry, your Highness, but it is my duty to protect the Cartel. I could not, in all conscience, hand over all six of your pilots, but having had Skywalker slip from him, the Governor would not have been content with anything less than Antilles… There was nothing I could do but hand both Antilles and Aksha over to him…"

Leia kept her face carefully neutral as her stomach turned. "I see."

"We were able to negotiate that both pilots at least remained in this building for interrogation. We were subsequently able to retrieve Aksha," Jenniiya supplied. "Antilles, however, is beyond us. He is being interrogated by a Lieutenant Colonel from the ISB…"

Leia closed her eyes, asking, "Do you know what… information… ISB elicited from them?"

"We can provide you with transcripts," Jenniiya offered.

Leia nodded, worry etched on her face. "The base the pilots left from may be at risk," she thought aloud, reaching into a pocket for her com unit. "I should contact my ship."

"With the _Executor_ in orbit," Jenniiya countered, "any message you send to your people may be intercepted. We, however, can send word to one of our ships, who can relay it on your behalf…"

Leia nodded, "Yes. Yes, of course…"

Jenniiya watched the Princess as she pushed her comlink back into a pocket. "There is more," Jenniiya told her, unable to think of any other way to tell her other than bluntly, "Vader knows that Skywalker is still alive…"

Swearing softly, Leia looked at her. Things had just gone from bad to worse. Was that, she wondered, the reason for the sudden planetary lock-down?

"Nabrood," Jenniiya went on, "saved disaster by giving himself to the Imperials, telling them that he had betrayed me, betrayed the Cartel; that he had been operating outside my remit. Vader was…"

She paused, remembering the Dark Lord throwing Yolan across the room. "…less than pleased," she finished. "He is currently in the cells with Nabrood, persuading him to divulge more information…"

"I see," Leia commented softly.

Jenniiya looked down at her hands. "Nabrood is a brave man, Princess. He will give us the time we require…" Sighing, she went on, "I regret all this, your Highness. It could have been so easily avoided if the bounty hunters had only adhered to convention… They will not make that mistake again."

Leia sat, considering all the information that the Manwah had just given her. As Leia Organa, she was sickened by the thought of the Manwah delivering Wedge and Brin into Imperial hands. As Princess Leia Organa, diplomat and member of the Rebel Alliance Command structure, she understood that the Manwah had had to keep her own people safe; understood what that decision must have cost Jenniiya; knew that more than just the other pilots had been saved by sacrificing Wedge and Brin.

She also had a good idea of what the Manwah had in store for the bounty hunters whose unsanctioned actions had caused all of this. Right now, she wasn't sure she wouldn't help the Manwah dispose of them.

"Where are my pilots now?" she asked.

"Waiting aboard a ship along with the X-wings," Jenniiya supplied. "They are ready to leave as soon as we give the word. However, with the planet being in lock-down…"

Leia nodded, "We landed just before the announcement was made."

"Then," Jenniiya asked, "I propose that we embark upon formulating a plan to get warning to your compromised base and then get you and your pilots off-planet."

oo0oo

Ljana Castell watched the cloak billow behind Vader as he strode out of the cell, the door closing behind him. She waited one, brief moment to make sure the doors didn't open again then she turned, motioning to Lekk, who lowered Antilles to the floor.

Castell dropped to her knees beside the Rebel, unchaining his hands.

"Get me the med-scanner!"

Sondu obeyed, grabbing the scanner and handing it to the Lieutenant Colonel. She activated it, running it over Antilles' body.

The Emperor had ordered that Antilles was to be delivered to him. If he died before he was surrendered, it wouldn't be Vader who suffered: it would be her. Oston wouldn't exactly be in favour either. She swore softly at the readings, glancing up at Lekk. "Get a medic!"

He turned to obey.

"Wait!" Castell told him, changing her mind. "Have them bring that physician!"

On the floor, across the cell, the Diazez traitor lifted his head, offering, "Go to Gage. Gage will get him…" Yolan knew that Gage would already be contacting the Doctor, but he wasn't about to tell Castell that and alert the Imperials to the fact that everything in the cells was being monitored.

The Lieutenant Colonel looked at Nabrood then nodded at Lekk, who disappeared out of the door.

Yolan dropped his head back onto the floor, watching as Castell sat beside Antilles, sliding an arm beneath his shoulders and gently easing him up. She cradled him against her.

The breath caught in Yolan's chest and he coughed, clenching his jaw against the pain that stabbed through him. He tasted blood in his mouth and knew he needed medical attention. The pain was bearable, though, and it was only a matter of time before the Imperials killed him or left him to Jenniiya. Either way his difficulties would be solved.

Antilles' difficulties were entirely a different matter.

He watched as Wedge's eyes flickered open. The other officer, Sondu, handed Castell a small flask and she held it to Antilles' lips, gently coaxing him to drink.

Wedge looked up at her. He recognised that he should be afraid, that he shouldn't be comfortable in her arms, but he was too exhausted to move, too shattered to fight. Memories of pain trembled through his body.

The drink she offered him was cool, tangy and sweet, exploding like nectar on his tongue. He moaned softly at the taste, feeling the liquid ease his throat as he swallowed. It sparked a gnawing, empty ache in his belly and he drank greedily.

Castell looked at him: at the too-pale skin, at the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Dragging her gaze away, she looked up at Sondu, ordering, "Help me with him."

They lifted him off the floor, carrying him across to the cot and laying him down. His eyes were blank, devoid of all recognition and Castell couldn't help the small smile that pulled at her lips. If he remained in this state after he had rested and received medical attention, he would be ready to be schooled in whatever the Emperor wished him to say.

She turned, looking across the cell at Nabrood. The Diazez traitor was a seasoned bodyguard and, she had no doubt from the scars on his body, a hardened fighter. Vader's methods had been crude, but she had employed them herself to good effect on several, previous occasions. Castell knew that, if those methods had failed, the only thing that would make him talk was time…

A human could survive longer on lack of food than he could on lack of sleep…

Nabrood may be down, however, but he certainly wasn't out. Even wounded he could still do serious damage to herself and Sondu. She would be foolish to try and move him until Lekk returned. When he did, they would string him up… and then Yolan Nabrood would be all hers.

oo0oo

"Then we are agreed," Jenniiya concluded. "Your pilots leave today and run the blockade."

Leia hesitated, taking a deep breath. There was no other way. Vader and the _Executor_ might leave, but Leia had no doubt that other ships would arrive: may, in fact, be on the way. The Emperor would tear the planet apart to find Luke. Once he discovered that the hero of Yavin was still alive, he would not be sated with Wedge Antilles.

Her stomach turned at the thought of leaving Wedge to Vader and the Empire, but Jenniiya's people, the entire Diazez clan system, would be wiped out if they tried to save him… and she could not, would not, consign another planet to the same fate as Alderaan.

One man sacrificed to save millions…

Wedge Antilles: exuberant, charming, raucous… tortured...

Leia pushed away the guilt and horror, locking it behind duty. She would grieve over her decision later: in private. She let out the breath slowly and nodded. "We are agreed…"

"Then I will make the arrangements," Jenniiya told her.

oo0oo

The young officer walked across the bridge of the Star Destroyer, stopping a few paces away from his Captain. "Sir?"

Wiln Reton, commanding officer of the _Devastator_ turned away from the datascreen, looking at the Lieutenant.

"Sir, we have received information from the droid dispatched to Merivian," the officer supplied. "It confirms that the information about a Rebel presence may be correct."

He held out a datapad to Reton. "There's very little comms chatter, and even less to confirm a Rebel base, but there are residual wake signatures from sublight-drives leading to and from the planet. Some of them are indicative of a small craft such as fighters."

Reton took the datapad, telling him, "Thank you, Lieutenant!" before turning and crossing towards the helm, ordering, "Set course to Merivian."

Moving back to the command console, he studied the data on the pad. It did indeed confirm that there had been activity on and around Merivian. It could, of course, be a smuggling outfit, but the information about the Alliance base had come from Rebels captured on Gehndaaria: and Reton had recognised at least one of those Rebel's names.

"Alert the TIE squadrons," he ordered. "Put them on flight readiness. And transfer all the information we have to the Flight Commander's terminal."


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17

Hobbie gave in to the deep, jaw-splitting yawn and rubbed his hands across his face, trying to will away the tiredness.

When they'd first arrived, Alissha had guided Lainey to a cabin, letting her cry herself into an exhausted sleep. She was young… so young… too young…

They'd left her to grieve: left her to come to terms with the cost demanded of those for fighting for the Rebel Alliance. There had been rewards, amazing moments of morale-boosting euphoria that had brought small floods of personnel into the ranks… but right now, those were distant memories, overshadowed by the acrid, hollow grief of having to leave Wedge behind.

As Lainey had wept, he and Alissha had familiarised themselves with the ship's systems, leaving Brin and Luke to get some much-needed rest.

When the pain in Alissha's face had begun to tell, Hobbie had packed her off to take her medication and get her head down. Then he'd headed down to the cargo bay to look more closely at the X-wing weapons systems, leaving their Diazez escort to stand watch alone for a few hours. He had a feeling, deep in his gut, that only an engineer was going to fix whatever was wrong with the weapons, but at least he felt like he was doing something. And, considering the run of events since they'd arrived on Gehndaaria, fate owed them a break.

"Lieutenant?"

Hobbie ducked out from underneath the X-wing, looking at Barylo. "Yeah?"

"The Manwah bids me advise you," the Diazez security man told him, "that your people have contacted her…"

For the first time since the bounty hunters had attacked at the hotel, Hobbie felt relief stealing through him. They were no longer isolated, cut off from Rebel lines. The situation still wasn't good, but their luck had changed. They were no longer alone.

His fatigue evaporated. "Do we have new orders?" he asked.

Barylo smiled at him. "Any orders will be delivered in person," he supplied. "Your people will be here within minutes."

Hobbie's relief vied, suddenly, with concern. "Here? But I thought the planet was on lock-down?"

Barylo nodded, confirming, "It is," before continuing, "I have no answers for you, my friend. I know only what I have been told. Ranna Sahj has spoken with the Manwah, is on the way and will land within a few minutes."

Hobbie had no idea who Ranna Sajh was, had never heard of him before. They might no longer be alone, but with the planet on lock-down, Ranna Sahj might be trapped with them. They had been thrown a ray of hope, only to have it tempered.

He sighed, running his hand across his face. "Thanks, buddy… I better go tell the Boss…"

oo0oo

Leia sat beside Tamizander Rey on the flight deck of the ship, nervous anticipation fluttering in her belly. Luke was injured: badly injured. The Manwah had assured her that the damage to his heart had been repaired, but until she saw him for herself, until she reassured herself that he was recovering, she couldn't rid herself of the worry.

Her memories flowed back to the Death Star, to the white-armoured figure who had strode into her cell.

_Aren't you a little short to be a stormtrooper_…

Despite her worry, she smiled at the memory of the fresh-faced youth who had dragged the armoured helmet off and introduced himself as Luke Skywalker.

_I'm here with Ben Kenobi…_

General Kenobi, Jedi Knight, a man her father had spoken of frequently and with warmth: another victim of the Empire, cut down by Darth Vader… who was here, now, torturing Yolan Nabrood in an attempt to find Luke.

_And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base…_

She closed her eyes, fighting down the panic that threatened to surface as images of Vader walking towards her reared into her memory. She had no real idea how she had managed to resist his questioning and keep Yavin safe. She had no real idea how she had found the strength to lie when the fate of Alderaan lay in her hands…

_Dantooine is too remote to make an effective demonstration… You may fire when ready…_

The counsellor she had seen after Yavin, when the nightmares had slammed her awake and left her shaking, had gently pointed out that her mission to find General Kenobi might have thrown the stolen space station plans into her path, but Alderaan's fate had been sealed the moment her father had joined Padme Amadala and Mon Mothma in the fight against Palpatine. More than that, the counsellor had softly pointed out, without her foresight, millions of others might have died: the Rebel Alliance would have been devastated.

The nav-computer chimed softly and, beside her, Tamizander turned the ship, heading towards the final weigh point. "We're almost there, Ma'am."

She nodded, bringing her thoughts back to the present. "Thank you…"

Schooling her breathing into slow, calm, breaths, she centred herself; focussing on memories of being surrounded by the love of her mother and father: searching for the strength she knew she would need to tell Luke and the other pilots that not only was Wedge was lost to them, but that the only way out was to run the blockade of an Imperial Star Destroyer commanded by Darth Vader...

Rey checked the nav-computer again, turning the ship slightly, setting up the descent profile into the landing point the Princess had given him. The Gehndaarian sun was beginning to slide beneath the horizon. On the ground, it was already dark. The ship they were going to rendezvous with wouldn't be showing lights. Nor would it be showing a transponder tag.

Neither of those things were necessary, under the circumstances, but if the coordinates of the landing point weren't exact, it was going to make finding the ship more than a little problematic…

As if someone had been reading his thoughts, a strobe light burst into life ahead of them. Rey checked the coordinates and grinned, "Think we've found them, Ma'am…"

oo0oo

On the ground below, Barylo watched as the dark shape of the Rebel ship descended towards him. He waited until the ship was almost on top of him then switched off the strobe, watching as it slowly descended and settled onto the ground.

The engines spooled down and, on the side of the ship, an airlock opened, steps extending to the ground. A slight figure appeared, silhouetted against the light from inside the ship. The figure moved down the steps, walking towards him.

Barylo bowed in respect. "Welcome, Ranna Sahj. The Manwah bid me alert your people that you were coming. This way…"

Leia followed him, letting her lead her through the interior of the ship until the corridors opened up into a communal area. She stopped, her breath catching in her chest as she saw the familiar figure walking towards her. "Luke…"

She made a deliberate attempt to keep the worry from showing on her face, forcing herself to walk and not run to him. He looked tired and drawn, but he wasn't as pale as she had imagined he would be.

Skywalker stopped, looking at the figure who appeared from behind Barylo, "Leia…"

Delight at seeing a familiar face was quashed by sudden, gut-wrenching concern as he remembered that the planet was on lock-down. He had already been uneasy at the thought of a Rebel Alliance agent being trapped on Gehndaaria with them. That the agent was Leia sent his heart lurching. She was as high on the Imperial's wanted list as he was.

Leia reached him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him. "I was so worried…"

Luke glanced around at Hobbie who had followed him down the corridor, seeing his own concern echoed on the other pilot's face. Slowly folding his arms around her, Luke turned his attention back to the Princess. "Leia… What are you doing here?"

She smiled, letting him go, drawing back to look at him. "I couldn't sit back and do nothing when the Rebel Alliance had pilots stranded..."

"Leia," Luke pointed out, "now you're stranded…"

Her smile died and she sighed softly, supplying, "We saw the Executor in orbit and thought it might make things worse if we simply turned and headed back into hyperspace. The lock-down didn't begin until after we had landed."

Luke looked at her, fear rising up in his throat. _If she had arrived on the Falcon_… "Is Han with you?"

She shook her head, "No. He and Chewie are on other duties. Tamizander Rey flew me here in a borrowed ship."

"Rey's here?" Hobbie asked.

She nodded again, looking at him. "He is. We set down beside you. Now," she went on, pushing away emotion, switching easily into Alliance Command mode, "I have spoken with the Manwah. She's briefed me on the situation, including the problem with the weapons systems on the X-wings. So, the Manwah and I have agreed: we're going to run the blockade."

Hobbie's eyes went wide and he wore softly.

"Wedge?" Luke asked.

The thought of abandoning the dark-haired pilot to Darth Vader made Leia feel physically sick… but as a diplomat, negotiator and part of the Rebel Alliance Command structure, she knew the price that sometimes had to be paid. Alderaan had paid that price. The Imperial forces on the Death Star had paid that price.

Knowing it, however, didn't make it easier to accept and it was only her training as a diplomat that stopped Leia's voice from trembling as she countered, "If we try to rescue him, the whole Diazez cartel could be wiped out."

Luke closed his eyes, swallowing. Hobbie simply looked at her, his face unreadable.

"The Manwah and her people will die," she went on. "Vader won't spare them… He won't spare you!" she reminded Luke. "He knows you're still alive, and if we don't get you out of here, everything Wedge and Yolan Nabrood have gone through will be for nothing…"

Luke's head came up and he looked at her.

"Everything Nabrood has been through?" Barylo asked from behind her.

Leia turned, looking at the Diazez man. "To prevent the Manwah being implicated in helping Luke and the others to escape," she explained, "Nabrood told the Imperials that he alone was to blame, that he was acting outside of the Manwah's authority, without her sanction…"

Barylo swallowed, nodding, understanding the full implications of Nabrood's sacrifice. In publically announcing that he had acted without the Manwah's sanction, Nabrood had pushed himself into exile. The Manwah would have no choice but to cast him out of the clans. More than that, anyone found giving him assistance would be punished: their lives forfeit…

Another thought occurred to Barylo and he asked, bluntly, "Has he also been tortured by the Imperials?"

"Yes," Leia confirmed. "I'm sorry…"

Barylo nodded, telling her, "Your concern is valued." Then he bowed deeply, "I wish you all good fortune and will take my leave."

Luke stepped forward as Barylo straightened and turned away, but before Luke could say anything, the Diazez man paused, turning back to look at the Rebels. "I know nothing of your politics," Barylo told them, "but since I became a man I have served the Manwah, and her father before her. In that time, Nabrood has been constant in his advice and encouragement…"

He paused again, not sure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask, knowing that some would see it as betrayal of the Manwah and the Cartel. Finally, he went on, "Our culture demands that, if Nabrood survives, he must be exiled… If there was a place for us within your Rebel Alliance, I would accept exile with him."

Leia understood the enormity of what this young man was willing to give up. Many of those who had joined the ranks of the Rebel Alliance were unable to return home. For some, it was to protect their families; for others, their families thought them dead or had disowned them; for the rest, like Luke and herself, there was no home to return to.

Leia lifted her hand to her to cover her heart, as she had seen Jenniiya do, and bowed her head in respect. "There will always be a place in the Rebel Alliance for Yolan Nabrood and those who gave our people aid," she assured the Diazez man.

"Then perhaps, Ranna Sahj, we will meet again," Barylo told her.

oo0oo

Mon Mothma rose to her feet, moving around the desk to meet the two men being shown into her office. "General... Major…"

Carlist Rieekan acknowledged her with a nod of his head, dismissing with pleasantries, telling her, "The decision to evacuate Chandra Base was sound, Ma'am. I've sent orders to Captain Valdez to quit Merivian with the last, remaining personnel."

Mothma looked at him, anxiety curling through her stomach. There had been a great deal of discussion on whether or not to evacuate the base considering the scant information they had been supplied with. A number of the Alliance commanders had suggested they wait until they had more details. Gut instinct alone had pushed Mothma into persuading them to evacuate.

Now, it appeared, her instinct had been correct... and from the concern written across both Rieekan and Torshan's faces, the mission to Gehndaaria had obviously gone badly wrong.

"What's happened?"

Rieekan looked to the Major to answer Mothma's question. Torshan had been involved with the planning of the operation and had a far more in-depth knowledge of both the mission and the Diazez Cartel.

Palo Torshan took a deep breath then supplied, "We've received a communiqué from a Diazez Cartel freighter. The Gehndaarian mission failed almost before it began. Our people were recognised and attacked by bounty hunters. The Diazez Manwah stepped in, but Lieutenant Commander Antilles and Lieutenant Aksha were arrested and interrogated by ISB."

Mothma closed her eyes, swallowing down the dread that rose in her throat. She stepped back, indicating that they should move to the chairs. "Commander Skywalker?" she asked, "The other pilots?"

"Skywalker was badly injured," Torshan told her, following her and the General towards the chairs, "but he's received medical attention and is recovering. Downhigher, Klivian and Callen are all unharmed. The Manwah was also able to secure Aksha's release..."

He paused, loathed to deliver the final piece of information.

Rieekan glanced at him then looked back at Mothma. "Lieutenant Commander Antilles," he told her, "is still in Imperial hands, Ma'am…"

"There is no way to rescue him," Torshan added, "without compromising the authority of the Diazez Cartel..."

Mothma sank into the chair, her mind running over everything she had just been told, searching out ways to remedy the situation... Finding none...

The Diazez Cartel was essential to the continued, political stability on Gehndaaria. Despite what the Emperor might think, the only power with any sway on the planet was the Diazez Cartel. If the Cartel were undermined in any way, the Empire would move against them. The people would rise up. Thousands would die.

The thought horrified Mothma: Alderaan still raw in her memory...

She sighed, leaning back in the chair, rubbing her face in her hands, forced to choose between the death of thousands and the fate of a young man who had already risked his life many times for the Alliance...

"There's more, Ma'am..." Torshan told her.

Mothma lifted her head, looking at him.

"Lord Vader is on Gehndaaria," he began. "The Executor is in orbit and the planet has been locked down. The Diazez Cartel can no longer protect our people... The Princess, Skywalker and the others… are going to run the blockade..."

Carlist Rieekan watched Mon Mothma take in the information Torshan was giving her, marvelling, as always, at the quiet dignity she exhibited, even in the most trying of circumstances. His own reaction when the Major had appraised him of the communiqué from the Diazez freighter had been more explosive and far less dignified.

"Where are we evacuation the remaining Merivian personnel to?" she asked softly.

"The _Home One_, Ma'am, for the moment…" Torshan supplied.

She nodded, agreeing with the decision. Then she asked, "And the Princess Leia and the others?"

"That," Rieekan admitted, "is a little more problematic..."

"They're going to make contact," Torshan supplied, "as soon as possible after escaping Gehndaaria. They're in two ships: the one the Princess left in, and a cargo vessel large enough, at least, to hold five T-65s…"

Mothma looked at him in surprise. "They still secured the X-wings?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Rieekan smiled, confirming, "They did, Ma'am…"

A smile tugging at the edges of her own lips, Mothma shook her head, quirking an eyebrow. "If the relationship survives this debacle, the Diazez Cartel may prove to be a most resilient ally…"

Rieekan nodded, "Indeed, Ma'am…"

Mothma's smile faded and she sat in silence for a long moment. "We cannot risk sending them to the _Home One_," she decided, finally.

"Agreed," Rieekan concurred, "but if Skywalker and Aksha require further medical attention…"

"Then we cannot simply ask them to hide somewhere," Mothma finished.

"Ma'am…" Torshan ventured, "may I suggest Echo Base?"

"Hoth?" Mothma shook her head, shivering involuntarily at the thought of the ice world. "I was reluctant to send the enviro-engineers there, let alone anyone else."

"We understand that, Ma'am," Rieekan countered, "but the situation has changed. General McQuarrie has confirmed that phase two is ahead of schedule... May I?" he continued, indicating the data screen on the wall.

Mothma nodded. Rieekan pushed himself to his feet, fishing a data crystal from his breast pocket and sliding it into the control point. A two-dimensional image of the proposed plans for the Hoth base blinked into life. Rieekan touched a corner section of the map, enlarging it.

"The phase one storage and shelter area has already been extended to here," he began, indicating that almost one quarter of, what would become, the secondary hangar had been excavated. "The additional accommodation units for the phase three engineers are almost completed," he went on. "More importantly, because of the surface conditions, priority was given to installation of the environmental doors."

He turned, looking at her. "They are now operational, linked to an uninterruptible power circuit. I have no doubt that, with some careful rewiring, McQuarrie could have the medical equipment spliced into the same circuit."

Mon Mothma considered that for a long moment, then asked, "And the hangar area, is it a large enough for the Gehndaarian ships?"

"Leia's ship and five X-wings, certainly," Rieekan confirmed. "The cargo vessel, unfortunately, we have no information on at the moment."

"But once the X-wings are unloaded," Torshan suggested, "it could stand-off elsewhere…"

Mothma sat for another long moment, deliberating on the all the information she had just been given. Then, finally, she looked back at Rieekan, telling him, "Assemble whatever essential personnel you need, General. My compliments to General McQuarrie, he will continue to oversee the construction of the complex, but command of Echo Base is now yours."

Rieekan saluted, confirming, "Yes, Ma'am…" Then he continued, "General McQuarrie is ideally placed to be second in command…"

Mothma nodded, "Agreed. I'll have the orders drawn up."

She turned to Torshan. "Major, Gehndaaria was your mission. I need you at Echo Base to debrief the Princess, Commander Skywalker and the other pilots…"

oo0oo

Vader strode across the entry hall of the Diazez manor, heading for the cells. He was aware of the Diazez security people watching him, but they made no move to intercept him and he ignored them, sweeping down the stairs.

He had run out of time. The Emperor had demanded answers, wanting to know the reason for his delay in leaving Gehndaaria. His explanation of the discovery that Skywalker was still alive had failed to impress.

"Your orders remain unchanged, Lord Vader!" the Emperor had told him. "You will bring Antilles to me. Skywalker is a matter for Governor Oston, not for you!"

Clenching his jaw, keeping his emotion tightly under control, Vader had replied, simply, "As you command, my Master…"

He had been ordered back to Coruscant, but he was not about to relinquish his only lead on his son. He would not leave the Diazez traitor to Oston.

Reaching the cell, he moved through the opening door. Castell and the two other officers turned, saluting smartly. Antilles was lying on his side on the cot, his wrists bound, his eyes covered by a blindfold. Nabrood hung from chains in the centre of the cell.

Vader regarded both men for a long moment then demanded, "Is Antilles ready?"

"He's very close, my Lord," Castell supplied.

"You are running out of time, Lieutenant Colonel!" Vader warned her. "The Emperor requires Antilles' presence."

Turning back towards the door, he ordered, "Have Antilles and the Diazez traitor taken to my shuttle!"

Fear stabbed through Nabrood.

In the short time between the cell door closing and the Imperial officers moving to obey Vader's order, Nabrood's resolve almost failed. He had known he would be subjected to torture, had accepted it, but it had never occurred to him that he would be taken away from Gehndaaria, removed from the authority of the Manwah.

The thought terrified him.

Then, as he was cut down, he saw the bound, blindfold figure of the Rebel pilot lying on the cot. Shame and guilt flooded in, replacing the panic, bolstering Nabrood's faltering resolve. In the face of everything the young Rebel had had to endure, his fear paled into insignificance.

He had taken an oath to protect the Manwah, the Cartel and the clans. That duty had not yet been discharged. One slip, one moment of inattention, and he might still implicate Jenniiya in the Rebels' escape. More than that, he still had a duty to defend those afforded protection by the Manwah.

If the Imperials were taking him along with Antilles then there was a chance, however slim, that he might still be able to protect the young pilot.

Nabrood knew that Vezlentz had set his ribs and sealed the hole the broken bones had torn in his lung, but he also knew that the healing injuries wouldn't stand up to another beating… not yet. So he drew himself to his full height but stood unmoving, keeping his gaze on the floor, not inviting trouble, as the two men secured his wrists behind his back.

On the other side of the cell, Castell knelt in front of Antilles, removing his blind fold. His eyes slid open but remained unfocussed. He obeyed, without question, when she ordered him to stand.

"Name?" she asked, softly, rising to her feet.

A small frown brushed across his face. Then, slowly, he answered, "Wedge Antilles. Lieutenant Commander…"

"Are you a member of the Rebel Alliance, a terrorist responsible for the deaths of Imperial personnel?"

There was another small pause, then he answered, "Yes…"

"Were you involved in the Rebel attack on the Seinar shipyards?"

"…Yes…"

"Were you part of the Rebel attack on the Imperial space station at Yavin?"

"…Yes…"

"And what is the fate of the Rebel Alliance, Lieutenant Commander?"

Again, there was a hesitation. The dark eyes focussed slowly on her. "The Rebel Alliance will bring civil war… Only the Galactic Empire can ensure continued stability… Only the Emperor, chosen by the majority to be their sovereign ruler, can ensure a safe and secure society…"

Castell smiled. "Good, Lieutenant Commander," she told him, "Very good."

The cell door opened, a squad of stormtroopers marching into the cell. Castell quirked an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Lekk. Vader, she considered, wasn't taking any chances.

Sondu pushed Nabrood forward and four troopers fell in around him.

Behind them, Castell replaced Antilles' blindfold before taking his arm to guide him across to the stormtroopers, Lekk walking over to grasp his other arm.

Terror, of being thrown back into the silent darkness of the isolation tank, sparked through Wedge. He panicked, lurching backwards, breaking their hold on him. Castell swore, turning to catch hold of him again, opening her mouth to reassure him.

The sound of blaster fire reverberated around the stone walls of the cell.

Nabrood spun around then landed heavily on the floor as one of his escort hammered him between the shoulders with the butt of a blaster. He didn't fight as they dragged him up, his eyes fixed on the crumpled form of the Rebel pilot lying on the floor only a few feet away from him.

Castell turned, shooting a look of rage and disbelief at the stormtrooper who still held his weapon at the ready. Then she turned back, dropping to her knees. There was no wound charring the skin of Antilles bare chest, telling her that the trooper had used a stun charge. Still, she reached out, searching for a pulse.

Lekk grabbed the mediscanner, running it across Antilles' body. "There appears to be no further injury, Ma'am."

Castell flowed to her feet, turning on the stormtrooper, warning him coldly, "If your actions have disturbed the fine balance of our work to re-educate the Rebel, your own life will be forfeit! If he dies, you die! You are now personally responsible for his safety! Take him to the shuttle!"

The stormtrooper glanced at his colleague. Then they both moved past Castell, slinging their rifles over their shoulders, hauling the unconscious pilot off the floor. They draped his arms around their necks, lifting him and carrying him towards the door.

Nabrood's escort moved ahead of them, pushing the Diazez man out of the opening door and into the corridor.


	18. Chapter 18

Part 18

Leia looked around the assembled pilots. "Are there any questions?"

No-one spoke, but five pilots shook their heads.

Tamizander Rey had come across to the larger ship for the brief. They had left Lainey to sleep. Leia hadn't wanted to disturb Alissha or Brin either, knowing that they had both been injured but, despite their exhaustion, they had both been lying awake when Hobbie had checked on them. Both had chosen to join the briefing.

"Everyone is clear on the plan?" she pushed. "It's imperative that both ships start engines at the same time and lift at the same time. The _Executor_ will have more than enough time to launch fighters. We cannot risk one ship lagging behind."

Five heads nodded.

"Hobbie, Rey," she ordered, "ensure that the jump coordinates are locked into the nav computers. Hobbie," she added, "I will contact you when we're ready for start."

Rising to his feet, Hobbie finally found his voice, telling her simply, "Yes, Ma'am. I'll wait for your order to start."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Leia acknowledged.

"Is there no way we could use the X-wings?" Alissha asked. "As decoy?"

"I am not willing to risk any of you in fighters without functional weapons systems," Leia answered. "Our only hope is speed: breaking out fast and running."

Alissha sighed softly but nodded, acknowledging, "Yes, Ma'am…"

Tamizander Rey stood up, laying a hand lightly on Hobbie's shoulder before walking away, heading for the other ship.

oo0oo

Yolan walked along the corridor, as he had done a hundred times before: only this time, he was the one in chains. He was pragmatic enough to understand that he would probably never walk along this corridor again, or cross the foyer of the Manor.

The acknowledgement caused a ripple of panic to flutter through his belly. He forced himself to take deep, calming breaths, reminding himself that he was Yolan Nabrood: a chief advisor to the Diazez Manwah, sworn to safeguard her, sworn to defend those to whom she afforded protection. He drew his shoulders back, walking proud, holding his head up.

View blocked by the bulk of the stormtroopers in front of him as they made their way up the steps, Nabrood didn't see the assembled Diazez security personnel until the stormtroopers reached the top step and began walking across the foyer.

They stood in two lines, forming a corridor from the stairs to the entrance. They were armed, their weapons held across their bare chests: a mark of respect for a conquered warrior who had honoured him or herself on the field of battle.

From his place at the head of the line, Gage watched, waiting until Yolan reached the top step. Then he barked an order. As one, the security personnel turned, presenting their unprotected backs.

Yolan swallowed down the emotion that rose in his throat at the honour they were affording him. Knowing that this could not have happened without Jenniiya's sanction, Nabrood drew himself to his full height, ignoring the pain, walking tall and proud.

From the top of the grand staircase, Jenniiya watched the stormtroopers escort Nabrood towards the shuttle that waited on the landing area in front of the manor. Her jaw tightened, the only outward sign of her anger, as two more stormtoopers appeared, carrying the unconscious body of Wedge Antilles between them.

This was not what had been agreed with the Imperials. Vader had changed the terms. She knew she could make her displeasure known to Governor Oston, but she had an idea that he would give her reassurances but little else. Jenniiya was under no misapprehension: Oston had no sway over the Lord Darth Vader.

Nabrood was lost to them: lost to her.

More importantly, he and Antilles were being very publicly removed from the influence of the Cartel. It was only a matter of time before the other clan Chiefs heard of this. If they saw this as a sign of weakness they would call an Indiction… and with the Cartel's strength broken, the Empire would move in and sweep them aside.

She turned away, looking at Lynn who stood beside her, tears running unchecked down her face.

"Dry your eyes," Jenniiya ordered, the harshness of the command tempered by the gentle hand she laid on Lyn's arm. "Fix your make-up. Yolan would shun your tears and we have work to do. Have Gage attend me… And call a Council."

oo0oo

Tamizander worked through the checklist, glancing over at the Princess as she slid into the seat beside him. He fired up the flux converter, cycled the injection modulator a few times then waited for a second or two before firing the injection coils. The engines kicked into life, spooling slowly upward towards idle, sending a soft thrum of vibration through the soles of Rey's boots.

He checked the temperatures and pressures, watching them fluctuate for a moment before settling down into the normal range.

Reaching over, Rey selected life support, feeling himself pushed slightly into the seat as the gravity gyros spun up. The pressure eased as they grounded and a soft alarm chimed, signalling that the oxygen filters had kicked in.

He cancelled the alarm then, apprehension fluttering in his belly, Rey told the Princess, "Checks complete and ready for lift, Ma'am…"

She nodded, acknowledging, "Thank you…" Taking a deep breath, looking across at the larger ship beside them, she pressed the mic switch. "Redbird, this is Sahj, do you copy?"

There was a short pause then Luke's voice answered, "Sahj, Redbird. We copy… We're almost done here…"

He looked across at Hobbie, who was checking everything for a third time, unwilling to rush through anything on an unfamiliar ship. Finally, Hobbie nodded, giving him the thumbs-up, "We're set…"

oo0oo

The stormtroopers marched Nabrood up the ramp and into the waiting shuttle. Yolan didn't resist, knowing that he would need all the strength he could muster to endure whatever the Imperials had in store for him. The physician had healed his broken ribs, but Yolan knew they would still be fragile. A well-aimed blow would crack the freshly-knitted bone.

The troopers dragged him to a halt, kicking his knees out from under him, forcing him down onto the cold metal of the deck plating. He complied, risking a glance sideways: watching as the unconscious Antilles was dumped on the floor beside him.

The shuttle's engines spooled into life, the deck plate beginning to thrum gently. Fear stabbed through him. Only the sight of the Rebel pilot, lying unconscious and defenceless beside him, stopped Yolan from surging to his feet and running for the ramp.

He took a deep, settling breath, closing his eyes, drawing strength from duty: reminding himself that he was Yolan Nabrood, lieutenant and advisor to the Diazez Manwah, bound by oath to defend her, the Cartel, and the innocents they afforded protection to.

oo0oo

Luke watched as Leia's ship rose into the air, the landing gear retracting as it hovered just above the ground. Beside him, Hobbie lifted their own, much larger ship into the air. He hit a switch, holding the ship steady until a soft, warbled chime acknowledged that the landing gear was retracted and locked.

Glancing round, Hobbie traded a look with Brin, standing in the doorway. Then he turned back to Luke, asking softly, "Where to, Boss?"

Every fibre of Luke's being screamed at him to go back for Wedge, to rescue him, to save him from the horrors of Imperial interrogation. He knew that Leia was right: that if they tried to get Wedge out it would only result in disaster and the deaths of hundreds of innocents … but it didn't make it any easier.

The dull pain in his chest, where the doctor had operated, was beginning to intensify and he rubbed at it absently as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath: forcing himself to think like a Rebel Alliance Commander and not a soldier leaving a friend behind.

Swallowing down the constriction in his throat, forcing the words out, he ordered, "Take us home, Hobbie…"

oo0oo

Ljana Castell walked up the ramp into the shuttle, dropping into a crouch beside Antilles and running the scanner over his body. Reassured that he was in no immediate danger of dying on her, she stood up, stepping over him.

Apprehension vied with exhilaration as she settled herself into a seat. She was no longer confined by Oston's influence. She had been reassigned to Vader's personal staff and had been brought to the attention of the Emperor himself, yet she was prudent enough to know that she would have to tread carefully. One foot out of place would leave her cooling her heels on some gods-forsaken rim world… or worse: sent back to Oston in disgrace…

If she played her hand well, though, there would be almost-unlimited opportunity open to her…

Vader strode past the stormtroopers, moving up the gangway into the shuttle.

Castell shot to her feet, snapping a salute, but he ignored her, walking past her, stepping over the body of the Rebel pilot and sinking into a seat beside the kneeling figure of the Diazez traitor: the man who had, so stubbornly, refused to divulge the information about Luke Skywalker.

Anger and frustration roiled deep in Vader's belly. He fought for calm, aware that if he didn't keep his emotions tightly under control, Palpatine would sense them. And if the Emperor caught even the smallest glimpse of the true reason behind Vader's desire to find Skywalker, all would be lost…

…_together you and I can rule the galaxy…_

As the hatch sealed closed and the shuttle lifted slowly into the air, Vader pushed those thoughts away, forcing his attention towards the safer subject of how to ensure Castell's conditioning had been successful before delivering Antilles to the Emperor.

oo0oo

"Captain Piett, Sir?"

On the bridge of the Executor, Piett turned, looking down at the young officer sitting at the sensor console in the operations well.

"We have two contacts climbing into the lower-atmosphere," the young man told him.

"They are ignoring orders to land, Sir," another officer confirmed.

Piett's lips pressed into a tight line. This could be foolhardy traders pushing their luck, the sort of people who would attempt to plead communication difficulties and lack of knowledge of the lockdown. Or it could be exactly what Lord Vader had warned Admiral Ozzel of: Rebels trying to escape from Gehndaaria.

One Rebel in particular: Luke Skywalker.

"Sir?" another voice called. "Lord Vader's shuttle has just lifted, en-route to the Executor…"

_And it never breezed but it blew_…

"Can we get a tractor beam on the ships?"

"We're out of range, Sir," he was told. "We won't be able to intercept them before they clear the planet's atmosphere…"

_Where they can escape into hyperspace…_

"Move in to intercept!" Piett ordered, "and launch a flight of TIEs! They are to disable the ships only, not destroy them! As soon as we're in range, lock a tractor onto them," he continued. "Inform Lord Vader's shuttle of our intentions. I," he finished, turning away, "will brief Admiral Ozzel…"

oo0oo

In the almost-deserted Ops Centre of the Rebel base on Merivian, Major Toryn Farr covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned. Sighing softly, she reached for the last remnants of kaffin in the mug beside her.

After the flurry of activity of the departing ships, the scopes were now silent. Alliance Command had called it a cautionary withdrawal and under Shawn Valdez' quiet direction, the evacuation of the base had run smoothly. All that were left were some senior techs, four X-wing crews, some ground troops, herself and Valdez… no more than fifty at most… Less than a quarter of the personnel who had been here only a few hours ago.

She drained the mug… then turned, looking across at the communications console as the droid there called, "Major, there's an incoming message from Alliance Command."

Toryn pushed herself to her feet. Then stopped, sinking back into the seat as the scopes warbled a hyperspace alarm… too close for comfort. Either it was an Alliance ship heading for the base in a hurry, or it was confirmation that Alliance Command's fears had been founded.

She sat for a few, tense seconds, waiting for the distortion on the scope to resolve and the transponder tag to appear, gut instinct telling her that this was an Imperial ship. For a fleeting moment, before the scope lit up with jamming flack, a ghost of a tag appeared.

Swearing, Toryn turned, hitting the alarm. It was a Star Destroyer: the _Devastator_…

Reaching up, she lifted the hand-held mic, transmitting, "Incoming! Incoming! Incoming! This is not a drill!"

oo0oo

Hobbie swore, crudely and succinctly, as traffic proximity alarms warbled into life. He'd known that the Imperials wouldn't just sit back and let them go… but he had still hoped. "The _Executor's_ launched TIEs," he warned Luke. "Looks like it's moving in to intercept us too…"

Luke leaned forward to look at the data screen. Hobbie swore again, dread crawling through his belly and up his spine. "The TIEs are going to catch us…"

"We can dodge them," Luke began.

Hobbie looked at him in disbelief. "Boss," he reminded, "this is no fighter we're flying! It's not as responsive at slow speeds as a TIE, or as manoeuvrable! It's wider in the turn too! The TIEs will be all over us! And the guns won't respond to humans!"

Luke's frayed patience snapped. "No one said this was going to be easy," he countered. "Move! Keep your attention on the tactical screen… I'll fly the ship!"

Hobbie hesitated. Luke glared at him. "Do I have to make it an order?"

Swallowing, Hobbie shook his head, standing up, "She's all yours, Boss..."

oo0oo

Sliding out of the pilot's seat, the Commander pulled his uniform jacket straight then stepped out of the flight deck. Walking into the body of the shuttle, he stopped in front of Vader.

"My Lord, Captain Piett reports that two ships have lifted from Gehndaaria and are ignoring all orders to land. He has launched a wing of TIEs," the Commander went on, stepping back as Vader rose to his feet and swept past him, "with orders to disable, not destroy the ships…"

Vader reached the flight deck, leaning in to watch the tactical display. The TIEs were closing. They would reach the Rebel ships before they had cleared the Gehdaarian atmosphere. The _Executor_ was also moving in.

_You have not evaded me yet, my son…_

He closed his eyes, reaching out through the Force… sensing Luke's familiar energy; sensing the Force flowing through him as he drew on it...

Luke was flying one of the ships…

…the larger of the two…

Vader looked at the second shuttle pilot, ordering, "Tell Piett to have the TIEs concentrate on the larger ship. The smaller one is of no value…"

"Yes, My Lord!" the pilot acknowledged, relaying the orders to the _Executor's_ bridge as Vader turned his attention back to the tactical display, watching the fighters close on the Rebel ships.

oo0oo

The Merivian sun washed in through the opening hangar door as Zev Senesca lifted his X-wing off the ground, turning the fighter before his canopy hissed closed and locked forward. To his left he saw Tarn Mison's fighter lifting off, the ground crew grabbing whatever they could before running for the only remaining transport. Zev knew that knew his own crew would be doing exactly the same.

He keyed his mic. "Control, Waelven Two is airborne…"

"Waelven Two, copied." Major Farr's voice crackled in his ears. "Standby…"

"Control," Mison reported, "Waelven Four airborne."

"Roger, Waelven Four," Farr confirmed then ordered. "All wings stay with the _Bright Hope_! I repeat, all wings stay with the transport! One Star Destroyer in orbit and multiple eyeballs inbound!"

"Who invited them to this party?" a third voice quipped.

Zev recognised the Corellian drawl and ordered, "Cut the wise-cracks, Waelven Five!" before telling the Major, "Control, that's copied. All wings to stay with the _Bright Hope_. Five and Seven, you with us?"

"Waelven Five is airborne," the pilot confirmed.

"Waelven Seven, in the air!"

"Okay, guys, you heard the Major!" Zev told them, "We've got a Destroyer in orbit and TIEs inbound. Stay with the _Bright Hope_. No heroics. This is a protection detail."

oo0oo

Wedge surfaced slowly. His body was heavy, his thoughts fogged. It took him a long moment to work out that he was lying on his side. The surface beneath him thrummed gently.

The sensation was familiar, although he wasn't quite sure why. It was comforting: staving off an uneasy sense of foreboding that slowly crept through him, bringing with it a dull ache in his back and chest that slowly intensified. He tried to move, to ease the discomfort, but it took too much effort and he gave up, relaxing back against the gently vibrating surface.

Soft hands caressed his shoulder. "Lieutenant Commander… Can you hear me?"

He recognised the voice but couldn't quite place it.

_Think I liked it better when she was on the other side of the galaxy…_

An image flowed into his mind, of a pretty brunette… and a man with scars…

_I am sorry, my friend… There was no other way…_

No other way for what?

Another memory surfaced... The man with scars lowering another man to the floor...

_Aksha is dead_...

Even as the denial formed in his thoughts, he knew it was true. The pain in his chest expanded, clogging his throat: guilt and grief crushing in on him, pushing a wail of despair from his throat. Brin was dead… Dead because of him…

_You were the target of the bounty hunters_…

He tried to take a breath but couldn't fill his lungs. He was aware of being lifted, of being turned onto his back.

A blow across his face stunned him, sending white flashes through his head. The shock drew a long, ragged breath into his lungs that he choked out in a sob. Someone was calling his name, quietly but insistently. He dragged another breath in.

"...answer me, Lieutenant Commander!"

Afraid that Antilles' panic would escalate, Castell reached out, taking off the blindfold and discarding it on the floor. She grasped his jaw, ordering, "Look at me!"

His eyes fluttered open and, as he tried to focus, she ordered again, "Look at me!"

Dark eyes, awash with horror and shame, looked up at her.

"What is the fate of the Rebel Alliance?" she demanded.

The question cut through the anguish and Wedge almost moaned in relief. He knew this. He knew the answer to this. Voice hoarse, he pulled in another ragged breath then supplied, "The Rebel Alliance must be stopped…"

"Why?"

He swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat. "It was founded on lies," he rasped, "founded by those who resented the Emperor's power, who sided with Jedi in their attempt to assassinate him…"

oo0oo

Flying ahead of the freighter, Leia sat beside Tamizander Rey, biting the inside of her lip as she studied the tactical screen. She had realised, almost as soon as the TIEs launched, that the Imperial fighters would overtake them. What she hadn't anticipated was that the TIEs would completely ignore her ship and concentrate solely on the freighter... which is what the tactical screen was now predicting.

She swore softly.

Rey glanced at her, ignoring protocol as he asked simply, "What?"

Pushing herself to her feet, she told him, "The TIEs are targeting the freighter... We need to run interference. I'll man the guns..."

Rey's eyes went wide and he cursed, reaching out to stop her, "No!"

She blinked in surprise, rounding on him. "Pardon?"

"My orders," he told her, "are to bring you to Gehndaaria to negotiate with the Diazez Manwah, then take you straight back to Alliance lines! Those orders do not include running interference against a squadron of TIEs and a Star Destroyer!"

"Lieutenant," she countered, "we need to help them. Luke and the others are defenceless in that ship!"

Tamizander held his ground. "And if this ship is disabled, you will be defenceless against Imperial interrogation! And that's Vader's Star Destroyer out there!"

"I'm well aware of whose ship it is!" Leia bristled.

"Then you'll understand," he told her, "why I'm obeying my original orders, Ma'am, and ignoring your request."

"Lieutenant..."

"May I also, respectfully, remind you," Tamizander interrupted, "that the plan of action agreed with Commander Skywalker, was for both ships to break out and run."

"That was before we realised that the TIEs were only going to target the freighter!" Leia shot back.

"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed, "but we can't alert Commander Skywalker to the change of plan without breaking radio silence. And if the Commander sees us pulling some crazy-assed moves contrary to the agreed plan, he may just pull some crazy-assed moves himself..."

_Like climbing into an X-wing that had no functional weapons systems_, Leia realised, her stomach contracting at the thought of him, or any of the other pilots on the freighter doing just that.

She swore silently, knowing that Rey was right... knowing, also, that she couldn't just sit back and do nothing.

"Would you have any objection to my manning the guns and trying to take out some TIEs on the way?" she asked, schooling her expression into something more befitting a diplomat than a soldier. "Without the crazy-assed moves?"

Rey shot her a wicked grin. Nodding, he told her, "I'd have no objection to that at all, Ma'am."

oo0oo

Vader stood, unmoving, on the shuttle flight deck. He no longer watched the tactical screen. Instead, his eyes were closed, his attention focussed on the power of the Force as it flowed through his son.

The TIEs had reached their target and were haranguing the freighter… but only a few of the shots were hitting their mark. Luke was a talented pilot and, despite being slower and less manoeuvrable, the freighter was evading the fighters. Moreover, the TIEs were under attack from the leading ship. Two were already damaged and retreating to the Star Destroyer.

Pride in his son's abilities vied with anger at the Imperial pilots' inability - at his inability - to bring the boy to heel. The power of the Dark Side of the Force was his to command… and still his son evaded him.

oo0oo

Face beginning to throb as the painkillers wore off, Alissha Downhigher staggered into the bulkhead as the freighter shuddered and bucked sideways. Then she ended up on the floor as the ship flipped into a tight, corkscrewing spin that the gravity-gyros had no hope of keeping up with. Muttering a curse, she crawled along the deck, heading for the cargo hold to make sure that the X-wings were still locked down and stowed.

Luke gritted his teeth as the manoeuvre pushed him into the seat. He struggled to sit upright, ignoring the pain in his chest and the pounding of blood in his ears. A TIE swooped ahead of them… then disintegrated in a bright explosion as the blaster fire from Leia's ship found its mark.

The wreckage careened off the hull of the freighter. There was a shower of sparks from a console above Hobbie's head that sent him diving off the chair onto the floor as he tried to avoid the small cascade of burning debris, his hands flailing at his head as the sparks burned him.

The smell of singed hair permeated the flight-deck and Hobbie pulled a face, wondering how many burnt and bald patches he was going to see once he had the chance to look in a mirror.

A burst of fire-smothering gas extinguished the sparks.

Scalp stinging, he reached for the seat, hauling himself up onto it, stifling a groan as his stomach protested at the sudden shift in g-force as Luke pushed the nose of the freighter down, dodging another TIE that spat blaster fire at them.

An alarm warbled into life. Swearing, Hobbie cancelled it, warning, "Hull breach!"

"Lock it down!" Luke ordered, pulling the nose of the ship up and corkscrewing it in the opposite direction.

"Already on it, Boss!" Hobbie told him, punching at switches over his head.

A TIE screamed past, only just missing the ship. It turned to loop back towards them… then skittered off in another direction as blaster fire from Leia's ship lanced out towards it.

"Where's the destroyer?" Luke asked, pushing the freighter into yet another nausea-inducing turn, trying to ignore the ache in his arms and in his back, wincing as the ship shuddered under the impact of blaster fire.

"Still out of range," Hobbie supplied.

He looked up, sucking in his breath in fright as a TIE filled the viewscreen, heading straight at them. It peeled off at the last minute.

Luke sensed, rather than saw, the other fighters falling in behind the freighter. Swearing, he realised that, now that they were in the upper atmosphere, the Imperials were changing tactics. As if reading his thoughts, the TIEs fired, targeting the engines to slow the freighter down, giving the Star Destroyer time to get into range.

Leia's ship, though, was pulling into line ahead of them.

A grin flashed across Luke's face as he realised what Leia and Rey were trying to do. Every instinct screamed at him to evade the blaster fire that was hitting the stern of the freighter… but he stayed straight and level…

Leia's ship jinked, suddenly, to the left at the same time as the guns began firing again. Luke pulled the freighter round, hard, in the opposite direction. The curtain of blaster fire from Leia's ship skimmed past the freighter's hull, slicing into the TIEs.

Hobbie whooped and punched the air as, on the tactical screen, the three targets behind them disappeared… but there were more moving in…

Another alarm chimed softly. Hobbie cancelled it, cursing. "Number two's running hot, Boss," he warned.

oo0oo

Beneath the obsidian mask, Vader allowed himself a ghost of a smile, sensing his son's changing emotions. There had been a moment of satisfaction, but now the fear had returned… and…

Vader hesitated, lifting his hand to touch his breastplate, feeling the dull ache in his chest.

The boy was hurting. Not unsurprising considering how close he had been to death only several hours before... and he wasn't yet fully healed. He was struggling. His reactions were beginning to slow.

Without the other ship there to help, to lay down covering fire, Luke would have already been in his grasp.

Vader leant forward, keying the mic. "Have the TIEs target both ships!" he ordered.

oo0oo

Zev Senesca flew out into the Merivian sun, guiding his fighter over the top of the transport ship as the last techs reached it, carrying an equipment box between them. They ran up the ramp glancing up at Tarn Mison's X-wing as it flew over, followed by the other two Waelven fighters.

Passing the techs, Captain Shawn Valdez walked down the ramp, looking up at the four-ship of T-65s flying overhead, before turning his gaze back to the hangar doors. Major Farr was still nowhere to be seen. He keyed his comlink, "_Bright Hope_, this is Valdez…"

Knowing what Valdez was about to ask, the _Bright Hope_'s comms officer glanced across at the First Mate, who looked at the tactical screen, then shook her head. "We need to lift now or the TIEs will take us out on the ground."

"Captain Valdez," the comms officer warned, "we're out of time!"

Swearing, Shawn turned towards the open hangar doors. From high above him a faint scream drifted into earshot, heralding the approach of the Imperial fighters. He took off towards the hangar, telling the _Bright Hope_, "Get out of here! Let command know that Major Farr and I didn't make it to the ship in time!"

"Valdez!" another voice answered. Shawn recognised it. It was the _Bright Hope_'s Captain. "Get your arse back on the ship now!"

"No can do!" Shawn told him. "The Major's the ranking officer and she's my responsibility! You need to lift now. And I won't leave her unprotected!"

Behind him, Shawn heard the ship's ramp lifting. The _Bright Hope_'s captain might not like leaving them behind, but he obviously wasn't going to give any argument. "We'll send someone back for you, Valdez," the captain's voice told him. "May the Force be with you!"

oo0oo

The TIEs were all over them. Whoever was on the guns in the Princess' ship was doing a damned good job of holding their own… but now that the TIEs were targeting both ships, Hobbie knew it wasn't going to be enough.

He bit his lip nervously, despising the feeling of helplessness and their inability to fight back. Luke's flying was nothing less than inspired, evading most of the incoming blaster fire, but all it would take was one, well-placed shot…

The Imperial fighters only had to slow them down enough to let the Star Destroyer get into position… and it would be all over.

They were already flying faster than they should on an engine with minor damage. In any other circumstances they would have shut it down as a precaution… but right now they couldn't afford to. The only thing that was going to get them out of this was speed.

Hobbie scanned the engine readouts pushing down the mounting anxiety as he realised that the engine temperature was still rising. It was only a matter of time before it either started overheating or whatever had been damaged inside, failed catastrophically.

They were so close… Only a few more minutes and they would be clear of the Gehndaarian atmosphere. The sky ahead of them was already beginning to darken towards the starlight and blackness of space.

The ship lurched and bucked sideways.

Cursing, Hobbie glanced across at Luke as Skywalker turned the ship into another tight, corkscrewing, evasion manoeuvre. There was a sheen of sweat on Luke's face and Hobbie frowned, opening his mouth to ask him if he was okay, but the wail of another alarm drew his attention back to the console.

Hull breach… Damn it!

_Hold together, baby_, he willed as he dealt with the breach._ Just hold together!_

oo0oo

Admiral Kendal Ozzel strode onto the bridge of the Star Destroyer, heading across to where Piett watched the unfolding situation in the Gehndaarian atmosphere below them. "Report!" he instructed.

"The two ships have continued to ignore all orders to land," Piett began. "Our fighters have intercepted them and are attempting to disable them," he went on. "On Lord Vader's orders, they initially targeted the larger freighter, but are now tackling both ships. We are moving to intercept them," he finished.

Lips pressed into a tight line, Ozzel nodded acknowledgement before asking, "The TIEs have not yet neutralised the ships, then?"

"Not yet, Admiral," Piett confirmed. "However, the freighter has smoke trailing from one of the engines and the indications are that it is losing speed…"

Ozzel scrutinised the screen. Unless the TIEs' marksmanship improved drastically and quickly, damaged engine or not, the Rebel ships would clear the Gehndariaan atmosphere where they could escape, unhindered, into hyperspace. He had no doubt that the TIE squadron's commander would pay dearly for his pilots' ineptitude.

"And what of Lord Vader?"

"He has secured the Rebel prisoner and his shuttle is en-route to us," Piett supplied.

Ozzel made small, disparaging, sound. "Then I had better go down to meet him. If the Rebels escape, he will be less than pleased! Skywalker would be a far greater prize to deliver to the Emperor than Antilles!" Turning, he walked away, ordering, "Keep me posted, Piett!"

oo0oo

Heart in his mouth, Hobbie glanced at Luke as a shudder rippled through the ship. Alarms warbled, the sensors spewing data onto the screen. The damaged engine failed, briefly, then surged back into life, setting off more alarms as the readings flickered and leapt into the red.

"The flux-capacitor's going in number two!" Hobbie warned. They were close, so close… too close to risk pushing the damaged engine any further. If it blew on them, it could take half the ship with it. Or fill the lower decks with scalding gas. Neither option was particularly palatable. "The coolant's superheating! We need to shut it down!"

Luke simply nodded in answer, struggling to stay one step ahead of the Imperial fighters. His shoulders ached, the pain slowly spreading down his back. Exhausted and light-headed, he tried to blink away the darkness that pressed in at the edge of his vision. He dragged in a breath against the increasing tightness in his chest, finding it suddenly difficult to fill his lungs.

He was vaguely aware of Hobbie shutting down the engine, vaguely aware that Leia's ship had stopped firing on the TIEs. From far away he heard Hobbie telling him that they'd cleared the atmosphere, that they could jump to hyperspace…

For a brief moment, Luke had the impression of a sinister, oppressive figure standing behind him. He tried to turn in the seat… but his world tilted.

Hobbie swore as Luke collapsed sideways against the bulkhead. Jumping to his feet, yelling for help, he reached past Skywalker, hitting the nav switch. As the stars fragmented into the kaleidoscopic blue-white corridor of hyperspace, he forced himself to ignore Luke and to check the engine read-outs.

Only when he was satisfied that the ship wasn't in danger from a malfunction of the second engine, did he turn his attention to Luke, easing the pilot's unconscious body onto the floor.

oo0oo

Vader's jaw tightened in anger as he listened to the report of the two Rebel ships jumping into hyperspace.

Even without training, his son's gift was growing stronger. It was only a matter of time before Palpatine felt the warning tremors in the Force and realised that Luke was a threat. Nothing would prevent the Emperor hunting down Luke when he did. The full weight of the Empire would be turned on him.

That was something Vader would not allow to happen.

He had been unable to save Padme. More than that, Palpatine had allowed him to believe that in the depths of his own anger he had killed her…

Only when he had heard the name and recognised Skywalker as his own son had he finally understood how well he had been manipulated, how skilfully Palpatine had played him. Admiration had grown slowly into resentment and hatred, feelings that Vader had embraced, letting it strengthen him.

Palpatine's betrayal no longer mattered. All that mattered was the boy who continued to evade him…

Anger surged again as he realised that, to that end, he would now have to continue toadying to Palpatine, obeying his every command without question… while quietly searching the galaxy for his son: a pursuit that would start with the Diazez traitor he had removed from Gehndaaria.

Another thought occurred to him and the anger flowed swiftly towards gratified self-satisfaction. He smiled coldly.

How fitting that he could now use Palpatine as Palpatine had used him. He would be a loyal servant to his Sith Master, he would do everything in his power to aid the Emperor in destroying the annoyance of Mothma and her Rebel Alliance. And then the way would be clear for him to usurp Palpatine and rule the galaxy… with Luke at his side.


	19. Chapter 19

Anxiety crawled through Leia's stomach as the seconds dragged on and the freighter didn't appear. She chewed on the inside of her lip, hundreds of possibilities racing through her mind.

She had given them the wrong rendezvous coordinates…

The Imperial fighters had taken out an engine and they'd had to drop out of hyperspace early...

The Imperial fighters had taken out an engine and they'd never made it into hyperspace…

A TIE had collided with the ship…

The Destroyer had moved in on them…

They'd gone back to Merivian…

…Finally, the sensors warbled, alerting her to a ship dropping out of hyperspace.

Almost before the hyperspace distortion had disappeared, Hobbie's voice crackled over the speakers, "Sahj, Sahj, this is KingEagle!"

Relief washing though her, she sat back as Tamizander answered, "KingEagle, this is Sahj. It's good to see you…"

Leia's relief died as Hobbie told them, "We have a medical emergency. Commander Skywalker has collapsed. He's barely conscious. We think it's his heart…"

Colour draining from her face, worry surging through her, Leia asked, "What medical supplies do you have?"

"Limited," Hobbie told her. "We've got him on oxygen, but the medical scanners are all in Corxian and none of us read it."

"Ma'am, there's another incoming message," Tamizander warned.

"Stay on frequency, Lieutenant," Leia told Hobbie, nodding to Tamizander to accept the incoming communication.

A small, holographic image of General Carlist Rieekan appeared on the console. "Your Highness…." he greeted.

"General," Leia told him, a small rush of relief tempering the worry, "We've brought five pilots out of Gehndaaria, but Commander Skywalker has collapsed. He needs urgent medical attention and the facilities on the ship are limited…"

"Understood," Rieekan told her. "We're sending you to Echo Base. The coordinates should be coming through now. We were informed of the injuries Commander Skywalker received and we'll have full medical facilities ready for your arrival. Our information," he went on, "also indicates that you have two ships?"

Leia nodded. The message from the Diazez Cartel had obviously reached Alliance Command. "Yes, General," she confirmed. Reticent to give any details that might be overheard by an Imperial listening post, she told him simply, "A borrowed freighter and the original ship we left with."

"Understood, Princess," Rieekan acknowledged.

"We have the coordinates, Ma'am," Tamizander confirmed softly.

"Lieutenant Klivian?" Leia asked.

"We have the coordinates, Ma'am."

"Head for Echo Base, your highness!" Rieekan ordered. "We'll be waiting for you there."

oo0oo

Someone was speaking. He dragged his eyes open… to darkness. It took him a long moment to realise that the voice was coming through speakers. It swirled around him, enveloping him.

"…_Jedi assassination attempt has left me scarred and deformed, but I have survived! We have been betrayed by those who professed themselves peacekeepers, but we have endured and prevailed and we now stand on the threshold of a new beginning! The war is over! The Separatists have been defeated! The Jedi attempt to overthrow the Republic has been foiled!_"

The cold metal of the floor seeped heat and energy from his body. He shivered in the darkness, too exhausted to move, still lying where the stormtroopers had dumped him before leaving him alone in the cell.

"_There are those who may be considering taking advantage of what they perceive to be instability caused by this Jedi rebellion. Certainly, the Jedi would not have attempted sedition without the backing of traitors within the Senate_."

Wedge frowned, the image of a regal woman with a soft smile swimming into his mind. Mothma… The figurehead of the Rebel Alliance… One of the traitors…

"_I appear before you now to assure you of the continuance of the security and stability we have enjoyed in our society! To ensure this, the Senate has voted to transform the Republic into the first, galactic Empire: an Empire which will be ruled by the Senate, guided by a sovereign ruler! I, humbly undertaking to be that ruler, pledge to you that it will be a safe and secure society: ruled by the majority and by a new constitution!_"

Palpatine's voice paused before going on, "_I also give you assurance that my first undertaking as Emperor will be to ensure that the remaining Jedi are hunted down and defeated! All collaborators will be similarly dealt with: swiftly and decisively!_"

Another image formed in Wedge's mind: of a blond woman…

_The Rebellion was founded on lies, founded by those who resented Palpatine's power, who sided with Jedi in their attempt to assassinate him... Twice before you have almost been arrested, now we have you…_

The memory sent a ripple of fear through him…

_Antilles, Wedge… Lieutenant Commander… Rebel Alliance Forces_…

Rebel Alliance… He was part of the Rebel Alliance…

…_founded on lies… hunted down and defeated_…

The cell had gone quiet… except for the steady beat of the waelven's wings. She hovered above him, tantalisingly close, the soft breeze from her wings brushing against his skin.

He was a traitor… dishonoured… The waelven wouldn't take him… She wouldn't touch him… He was condemned to wander between life and death…

The realisation clogged his chest, constricting his throat. He dragged in a ragged breath.

Light flooded the cell, blinding him. He closed his eyes against it, pain lancing through his head. He heard the door open, heard booted feet clumping towards him.

He had no energy to resist as they dragged him off of the floor.

Major Ljana Castell stepped down into the cell, walking across to Antilles. He could barely stand and she knew that if the stormtroopers let him go he would crumple to the floor. He was exhausted, physically and mentally.

She smiled, reaching out to catch his chin, gently lifting his head. Behind her, the cell door opened again. The metallic hiss of a respiration unit identified the newcomer as Lord Vader. She ignored him, keeping her attention on Antilles.

"Lieutenant Commander?"

There was no response and she tried again. "Lieutenant Commander? Wedge?"

He dragged his eyes open, looking at her.

"Name and rank!" she ordered.

He fought to form the words, as if dredging them deep out of his memory. "Antilles… Wedge… Lieutenant… Commander…"

"You are a terrorist and a member of the Rebel Alliance?"

"…Yes…"

"Did you take part in the Rebel attack on the Seinar shipyards?"

"…Yes…"

"Did you take part of the Rebel attack on the Imperial space station at Yavin?"

"…Yes…"

"What does the Rebel Alliance stand for?"

"…lies…"

Castell kept her face neutral, quashing the small smile that tried to tug at her lips. "Why is that, Lieutenant Commander?"

Voice barely above a whisper, devoid of strength, he told her, "It was founded… on lies… by those… who resented Palpetine's power… who sided… with the Jedi and… tried… to assassinate him…"

"How should the Rebel Alliance be dealt with?" Castell pushed.

"Hunted down…" he supplied. "Defeated…"

"Why?"

"It will cause civil war… The new Republic will… collapse in chaos… without… the Jedi…"

"And what of the Empire?"

It took him a moment to answer, but when he did, she had to quash another smile. "Only the Empire can ensure… continued stability… can ensure a… safe and secure society…"

"And the Emperor?"

"Will never stand aside… will never relinquish his… duty of care…"

Castell turned, looking at Vader.

"The Emperor will be pleased with your results," he told her. "We reach Coruscant in two hours," he continued. "The Emperor will require him to be more coherent and to appear in better physical condition! Clean him up. And have him dressed in Rebel uniform."

oo0oo

Oston looked up as the white-uniformed officer was shown into his office. "Captain Lekk," Oston asked, "how goes the interrogation? I have not received a report from you in the last few hours."

Lekk frowned. "The interrogation, Sir?"

"Of the Manwah's traitor!" Oston shot back sharply. "Nabrood!"

Lekk swore silently, realising that Lord Vader must have moved without informing the Governor of his intentions. Oston was obviously not in the best of moods and Lekk had an idea that it wasn't going to be improved by the news he was now forced to deliver.

"Governor," he began.

Oston heard the tone in the Captain's voice and his mood darkened. "You have continued the interrogation?" he demanded. "I gave Major Castell specific orders!"

Lekk took a deep breath, keeping his voice calm and matter of fact. "Governor," he informed Oston, "Lord Vader removed Yolan Nabrood to the Executor…"

Anger and incredulity swept through Oston and he rose slowly to his feet. Voice dangerously quiet, he demanded, "What?"

"Lord Vader ordered that both Nabrood and Antilles be transferred to the Executor," Lekk clarified. "They were loaded aboard Lord Vader's shuttle before he departed."

Oston's face turned purple with anger. Surging around his desk he strode past Lekk and through to the outer office. His aide looked up.

"Send a communiqué to Coruscant! Inform the Emperor's Private Secretary," Oston ordered, "that Lord Vader has flouted the Emperor's direct order and has removed the prisoner Nabrood from ISB's control on Gehndaaria!"

"Yes, Governor," the aide replied.

"And have my transport brought to the front now!" he demanded.

"Yes, Governor."

Oston turned, marching back into his office, barking, "Out!" to Lekk, who saluted smartly and left.

"_How dare he!"_ Oston fumed silently. How dare Lord Vader undermine not only the Emperor's authority but Oston's own authority!

Oston had heard many rumours and stories about the Sith Lord. All of them had been repeated reverently or in awe of Vader's apparent power. Until now, Oston had accepted them. Now he saw Vader for what the man really was: an uneducated, self-important, boor with delusions of supremacy!

He had suspected it from the moment Vader had barged into his conversation with the Manwah and accused Jenniiya of treachery. The woman had proven her loyalty. She had handed over two Rebels. An agreement had been made! Nabrood was to remain with the Cartel…

The Empire had broken their word. Oston had been made to look a fool and now he must go to the Manwah and do what he could to repair the damage Vader had caused.

Oston was not naive enough to believe that things would continue to go smoothly on Gehndaaria if the Cartel withdrew their backing of his Governorship. He could, of course, enforce his authority and quash any public disorder, but news of that would quickly reach the Emperor. The Empire's influence might be reinforced, but his name would be sullied. He would not risk failure in his first position of trust. He would not risk the Emperor replacing him!

_Damn you, Vader!_

Oston opened his office closet, taking out a clean, uniform jacket. Another thought occurred to him and he crossed to his desk, stabbing at the intercom switch. "Get Captain Lekk back here!"

The man could give him useful insight into the mood inside the Diazez manor.

oo0oo

Jenniiya stood up as Derwhen Kenwa was shown into her study. He waited until the door closed then moved towards her, opening his arms. She went to him, hugging him, relishing the strength of his arms as he wrapped them around her and held her.

"I grieve with thee," he told her.

She sighed, closing her eyes. "I thank thee…"

She held him a moment longer then, discarding the mantle of niece and uncle, she released him, once more the Diazez Cartel Manwah.

Derwhen let her go. "Am I the first to arrive?"

"You are," she told him.

"Then let us drink the kaffin and eat the pastries that I know you have ordered," he smiled, "and you can appraise me of the situation."

She smiled back at him, relief washing through her. She had hoped that he would offer his counsel. After thinking on her feet for so long, she desperately needed an unbiased, outside opinion and she knew that, in private, Derwhen would call things as he saw them: even if that meant berating her. "I would very much appreciate your opinion.…"

"And you shall have it," he assured her. Then he asked, gently, "You have replaced Nabrood?"

"I have," she confirmed. "Gage and Zren both deferred to Barylo, who gave his oath as Secor a few hours ago."

Derwhen nodded, "A good Secor must always have the trust of his lieutenants… I don't know the young man, but the decision is a sound one."

"He and Lyn will join us shortly…"

Derwhen shot her a small smile, "Ahhh, so you anticipated that I would freely give my opinion?"

She smiled. "I saw it only as an opportunity for you to meet Barylo," she fibbed.

"Ha!" Derwhen grinned, sinking into a chair. They said nothing more as a droid arrived with a tray of kaffin, cha and pastries. Lyn followed, her mood sombre. She bowed deeply, greeting, "Chieftain Derwhen."

Following her lead, he inclined his head, greeting formally, "Secretar Areese."

Lyn straightened, moving to settle herself on the large cushion beside Jenniiya's chair.

As the door closed behind the droid, Derwhen turned to Jenniiya, "May I beg an indulgence, Manwah?"

He was aware of the burden that rested on these young people's shoulders and he also knew that they had to be reeling under the blow of Nabrood's loss. In public Derwhen would never do anything but defer to Jenniiya. In private, however, he knew when to be the older uncle that she, and Lyn, so desperately needed. "May we dispense with formality?"

Jenniiya smiled. "For you," she told him, "we may…"

Nodding in acknowledgement, he rose to his feet, moving across the room to get a chair. He returned, placing it beside Lyn. Then he held his hand out to her, "If I may?"

Her jaw clenched briefly and he heard the small hitch in her breath before she reached out, taking his hand and allowing him to draw her to her feet. He pulled her into a brief embrace, planting a kiss on her hair, telling her, "I grieve with thee."

The kindness undid her. Tears sliding down her face, she kissed his cheek, unable to trust her voice.

Derwhen's actions brought a lump to Jenniiya's throat and she looked away, busying herself with pouring the kaffin and cha, swallowing down the constriction. She could not afford to indulge in the luxury of grief. She needed to remain clear-headed if she was to make the best use of Derwhen as an independent advisor.

Letting Lyn go, Derwhen stepped back, settling himself in the chair again, reaching out to swat away Jenniiya's hands and serve the refreshments himself.

"Tell me what has occurred," he asked.

As Lyn sank into the chair, Jenniiya began to brief him on everything that had happened from the moment she had taken the decision to provide the Rebel Alliance with hardware, until Vader had had both Antilles and Yolan dragged out of the manor.

Derwhen served them pastries, offering kaffin to Jenniiya and cha to Lyn before lifting a pastry for himself and sinking his teeth into it. Chewing thoughtfully, he allowed Jenniiya to finish. Then he swallowed and lifted his kaffin, asking, "And so you have called a Council?"

"Having Antilles removed from the manor can be justified to the Council," she explained, "as an agreement that will benefit the Cartel. Nabrood, cannot."

"And you decided to act before rumour and exaggeration clouded the truth," Derwhen surmised. "A shrewd move…"

"There was no other way," she told him. "To do anything else would have reinforced the perception of weakness."

"Then you are preparing to meet this head on…" He looked at her, nodding and swallowing a mouthful of kaffin. "Also a shrewd move…"

oo0oo

Mon Mothma looked up as her aide showed an Intelligence Officer in to the room. "Ma'am," the Commander began, "we have received word from both Chandra Base and from General Rieekan."

"Tell me of Merivian first," she ordered.

"A Star Destroyer dropped into orbit before the ship could lift," he told her. "Most of the remaining personnel were evacuated and the X-wing escort bought them time to jump into hyperspace. They are on their way to the Home One."

"Most of the personnel?" Mothma asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," he confirmed. "The ship had to lift before Major Farr reached it. Captain Valdez stayed on Merivian to ensure her safety."

Mothma nodded, dismayed that two Alliance officers were in danger but relieved that Major Farr was not alone. Valdez was Special Forces and a survival expert. It was one of the reasons he had been given the position of Evacuation Specialist. If anyone could evade the Imperials, and keep Farr safe, it was Shaun Valdez.

"And what of General Rieekan?" she asked.

"Princess Leia has made contact…"

Mothma heaved a silent sigh of relief.

She had been reticent to allow Leia to go to Gehndaaria, but she had known from the beginning that she would lose the argument. When Leia put her mind to things, it was difficult to persuade her otherwise. In that way, Mothma knew, she was very much like her father…

Han Solo had also offered his services but Major Torshan had turned him down, not wanting to risk the Falcon or its crew by sending it back to Gehndaaria. As soon as the Rebel pilots had been compromised, the Imperials would have gone through the records to identify the ship that had delivered them to the Gehndaarian capital.

"The information we received from the Diazez ship has also been verified," the Commander was continuing. "General Rieekan confirms that two ships, Princess Leia's and a freighter, are heading for Echo Base. He will rendezvous with them there…"

He paused then continued, "The General also reported that Commander Skywalker is in need of urgent medical attention. None of the pilots have any proper medical training, but they think it might be a problem with his heart…"

A concerned frown settled on Mon Mothma's face. An injury to his heart had almost killed the Commander only a few days before. The information from the Diazez Cartel had said that Commander Skywalker had received medical attention and was recovering, but recovery from major surgery did not always go to plan and considering the stress he would have been under...

All that she could hope was that they reached Echo Base before his condition worsened any further.

"What of the others?" she asked. "Lieutenant Commander Antilles?"

"They were unable to rescue Antilles, Ma'am…"

Mothma sighed, leaning back in her chair. Rieekan had told her that rescuing the Lieutenant Commander would be almost impossible, but she had refused to fully accept it until now…

"Thank you, Commander," she acknowledged. "Will you advise me when you have confirmation of them reaching Echo Base?"

He nodded, "I will, Ma'am."

oo0oo

Luke surfaced slowly into a nagging discomfort that slowly intensified. There was something lying on his chest, something heavy. He couldn't breathe properly.

Fear rippled through him. Had the ship been damaged? Was he lying under wreckage?

Pain radiated up his arm, across his chest and into his jaw. He dragged his eyes open.

"Commander?"

He recognised the voice and fought to focus, looking up into the anxious face of Haniff-Brin Aksha. The Lieutenant smiled back at him, telling him, "It's good to see you awake."

Voice muffled by the respiration mask, Luke asked, "Did… Did we get away?"

Brin grinned at him, "We did. And the Princess has made contact with General Rieekan. We're going to Echo Base. They've got a med facility all set up for you there…"

Luke took that in. He swallowed, finally, asking, "What happened?"

"You collapsed after we jumped into hyperspace," Brin told him. "We think it might be your heart again."

_His heart_…

An image of a small man with a ready smile floated into his mind. A doctor, he remembered. _I am happy to advise that I will be able to operate within the next few hours._

The recognition brought other memories flooded in. He closed his eyes, drowning under the weight of them. They'd made it out, they were on their way to safety, back to the Rebel Alliance… but they had left Wedge behind…

_Wedge_… Luke closed his eyes as grief and guilt clawed at him.

_If we try to rescue him, the whole Diazez cartel could be wiped out. Vader won't spare them…_

Vader…

…_betrayed and murdered your father_…

Vader hadn't just murdered his father. He had also murdered Ben Kenobi: the man who had offered to teach him the ways of the Force so that he too could become a Jedi. Instead, that opportunity had been torn from him.

Even now he could have been standing as a Jedi knight with the memory of his father at his back.

…_there are alternatives to fighting_…

_Like running and hiding_? _Like leaving friends behind?_

_And if you had not, another system would have suffered the same fate as Alderaan. Or you would also have been in the hands of Darth Vader…_

Instead, that fate had fallen on Wedge…

Luke moaned softly… then dragged his eyes open as Brin's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

He saw the relief on Brin's face… and a small voice at the back of his mind reminded him that he was a Rebel Alliance Commander and, even although he was injured, he was responsible for the safety of the people who were with him. He pushed aside the guilt, swallowing, forcing his lungs to work.

"Is everyone okay?"

Brin nodded but Luke could see the grief behind his eyes. "We're doing okay..."

"Where are we going?" Luke asked. He had a vague recollection that Brin might have already told him.

"Echo Base," Brin supplied, "That's all I know. We've got one more jump to do, so we should be there in a few more hours. They've got a medical facility set up there. They'll take good care of you. We're out of our depth here…"

Luke nodded, his eyes sliding closed. They'd been out of their depth from the moment the bounty hunters had attacked them in the hotel.

oo0oo

Castell watched as the Lieutenant guided Antilles into the cell. He had been showered and dried off. His hair was tousled, lying in damp strands against his face, making him seem terribly young and vulnerable. The bruising on his body stood out dark purple against his skin.

Castell walked towards him, hooking a finger beneath his chin and lifting his head. Glazed eyes focussed slowly on her. She smiled at him. "You must be hungry, Lieutenant Commander."

He frowned, but said nothing.

"Sit him down," Castell ordered, turning as a stormtrooper walked into the cell carrying a tray.

Castell lifted a bottle of protein milk. There was a pastry too, that she knew was filled with minced meat and vegetables. She left that on the tray for the moment, turning and walking across to where Antilles sat against the wall.

Opening the bottle she knelt in front of him, placing it against his lips. "Drink!" she ordered.

He obeyed her, taking a mouthful of the liquid. He swallowed, looking at her before taking more, drinking greedily. She held the bottle, tipping it higher, letting him finish the drink. Then she stood up, walking back towards the stormtrooper, putting the empty bottle on the tray and lifting the pastry.

Walking back to Antilles, she knelt in front of him again, breaking off a bite-sized piece of the pastry. She held it out to him and he ate it, his eyes never leaving her.

"Once you've eaten, you can rest," she told him. "When we arrive, you'll be woken and dressed."

She held another piece of pastry out to him, waiting until he had eaten it before asking, "What is your name?"

"Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles," he supplied.

"You flew T65s for the Rebel Alliance?" she asked.

"Yes."

She rewarded him with another mouthful of pastry, watching him eat it. "You were involved in the attack on the Imperial Space Station at Yavin. One of only a few survivors."

"Yes."

"You also flew in the attack on the Seinar shipyards."

"Yes."

"Your fighter was badly damaged in that attack," she offered. "You barely escaped."

He frowned then shook his head, "My X-wing… was damaged… but it was Hobbie… Hobbie was in trouble…"

"Hobbie?" she pushed. "Who's Hobbie?"

Wedge looked at her, frowning as a sense of dread pushed at him. Confused, his training as a pilot kicked in and he reacted to the instinct that was telling him to stay quiet, telling him that he would put Hobbie in danger if he said anything else… although he wasn't quite sure who or what Hobbie was…

Castell misinterpreted the confusion, assuming that he was having difficulty understanding the question. She filed away the name for later, not pushing the point, feeding him another piece of pastry.

"Why did you give yourself up, Lieutenant Commander?" she asked, planting the suggestion easily in his mind.

He looked at her, another frown brushing across his forehead. _Given himself up? Had he?_ The memories evaded him.

"When you thought Luke was dead…" she lied easily.

The dread intensified: grief and guilt washing over him. Luke wasn't dead, he remembered… but Brin was…

He closed his eyes, a soft moan escaping.

Castell reached out, gently running her fingers down his cheek. He was on the verge of both physical and mental collapse and she had to draw him back before she lost him. "Wedge?" she called softly, "Look at me."

He opened his eyes, focussing slowly on her.

"It's okay," she assured him. "Everything's going to be fine. I just need you to remember. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded slowly. The panic subsided a little.

"You gave yourself up because you thought Luke was dead…"

Swallowing hard, finding it difficult to form the word he finally shook his head, telling her, "Brin…"

Ljana quashed a smile, schooling her face into concerned attentiveness. "Brin? Hannif-Brin Aksha? You gave yourself up because Luke was injured and Brin was dead?" she suggested.

Luke was injured. His heart was damaged. Wedge remembered that. And Brin was dead… he had been lying on the floor…

Memories, jumbled and chaotic, rambled through Wedge's memory. Two men were rushing at him. They hit him with something, something that knocked him to the floor. Alissha was screaming…

"Bounty hunters…" he remembered.

"You were attacked by bounty hunters," Castell clarified. "In the hotel…"

"Yes…"

"But you were saved… by Yolan Nabrood…"

_Nabrood_… The name brought the memory of a tall man covered in scars. "Yes…"

"You were attacked by bounty hunters," Castell reviewed, wanting to reinforce the story in Antilles' fragmented mind. "You were saved by Yolan Nabrood but Luke was injured. Brin was killed."

There was something not quite right about what the woman was saying, but it was familiar. "Yes," he ventured.

"And you gave yourself up…"

He frowned, looking at her. _Had he?_ It didn't seem quite right… but how else could he be here?

"Because you've had doubts," Castell pushed. "You've had them for a while. Doubts about the Rebel Alliance…"

Wedge almost moaned in relief because he remembered that. The Rebel Alliance was built on lies.

He nodded.

"Why were you concerned, Lieutenant Commander?" Castell asked.

"The Rebel Alliance was founded on the lies of those who supported the Jedi sedition… who tried to overthrow the Republic," he told her, "tried to assassinate the Emperor… Traitors within the Senate…"

Castell nodded, pushing, "But why were you concerned about that?"

"Civil war," Wedge supplied. "The Rebel Alliance will bring civil war… the galaxy will collapse in chaos. Only the Empire can ensure stability… and a safe and secure society…"

"How should the Rebel Alliance be dealt with, Lieutenant Commander?" Castell asked.

"Hunted down and defeated," he told her. "Dealt with swiftly and decisively."

She fed him a final piece of pastry, climbing to her feet. The conditioning had taken effect more completely than she had dared hope. She had no doubt that, with some more work and the right pressure, he would reveal all the information he had about the Rebel Alliance. "Good, Lieutenant Commander," she told him, "very good. Now," she went on, "rest. We will wake you when it's time to dress."

oo0oo

Nabrood swung gently on the chains, shivering in the cold air. He had lost the feeling in his hands. The muscles in his arms and chest were bunched in agony, sending ribbons of fire down into his back. He took long, deep breaths, breathing through it.

Eyes closed, he kept his mind busy, knowing that it was the only way he was going to survive the pain and stay sane.

Jenniiya would already have called a council, to pre-empt any attempt to call an Interdict and remove her from power. She would have appointed a new Secor: probably Gage, although Barylo and Zren would also be good choices.

If the fates were kind, Derwhen Kenwa would arrive first, far earlier than the other Chieftains. That would give Jenniiya time to seek his counsel. Derwhen had been Jenniiya's father's closest friend. He had spent most of his adult life as Chieftain, and his childhood training to be Chieftain. If anyone could guide Jenniiya through the politics and avoid an interdict, it would be Derwhen Kenwa…

Jenniiya might even be able to call upon the help of the Governor… although she would take that course only if it didn't indebt her to him.

Lying in her favour, however, was the agreement that Osten had made with her. The Governor had given his word: both he and the Rebels would be interrogated by Imperials, but they would remain in the Diazez Manor. That agreement had been broken.

Was the Governor shrewd enough to understand the repercussion of that? Was he perceptive enough to recognise that without the backing, or at least the understanding, of the Diazez Cartel, his position would be untenable?

The Cartel could make his Governorship difficult.

If Interdict was called and Jenniiya were removed, the subsequent Manwah might not work as subtly as Jenniiya. In order to ensure the Cartel's neutrality, Jenniiya had walked a tight line between fawning over and rebuffing the Empire's advances… until Alderaan had been "destroyed", the Emperor had dissolved the Senate, and Jenniiya had confided her increasing concern about the tightening grip of the Empire.

They had all been cautious of the new Governor, but in the end Jenniiya and Lyn had played him skilfully…

Everything had been going to plan, even the bounty hunters' unsanctioned actions had been covered and the Governor had accepted their explanation. Jenniiya had even proven the Cartel's supposed loyalty to the Empire by handing over Aksha and Antilles…

And then Vader had arrived… and somehow he had seen through the lie. Somehow he had known that Skywalker was still alive…

But only Skywalker.

He had said nothing of the other pilots they had managed to hide. He had said nothing of Downhigher, who had supposedly been sold into slavery.

How had he known about Skywalker?

The lights snapped on, breaking his train of thought. He sighed softly, accepting the inevitable, lifting his head as the door opened and the sinister figure of the Lord Darth Vader stepped into the cell.


	20. Chapter 20

General Pharl McQuarrie screwed his face up against the blast of frigid air that swept in through the opening environmental doors. It brought with it a flurry of snow that danced around for a moment in hangar mouth before slowly settling towards the floor. Pharl pulled his coat more tightly around his tall, thin frame, wondering once again why he had ever tried to persuade Mon Mothma that a base on a frozen planet was a viable course of action. He'd known it was going to be cold…. He just hadn't expected it to be this cold.

His engineers had worked like dervils to get the medical centre set up. They were still running the final wire and ducting. They'd not had a chance to even start putting in facilities for the personnel arriving on this ship.

Pharl had no idea what had precipitated the sudden change in plans, but if the occupation of the base had been stepped up so dramatically it was obviously something serious. A hundred different reasons had gone through Pharl's mind, but he knew better than to speculate.

Carlist Rieekan was supposedly on the ship that was just arriving. Pharl had known the other Rebel General for many years, and he had a feeling that Carlist wasn't just arriving with answers, but to take command of the base: which suited Pharl just fine.

The environmental doors whined to a halt, fully open. The sound of engines grew louder and the ship appeared, edging its way into the hangar. It turned slowly, the hangar doors already beginning to close as the ship settled towards the floor.

The engines began spooling down and a hatch opened in the side of the ship. Steps slowly extended to the ice floor. Pharl moved forward, standing and waiting for Rieekan to appear, checking the datapad in his hands, reminding himself of the details so that he could give the General a full run-down of exactly where they were in the construction process.

"Pharl…"

He lifted his head, looking at Rieekan as the General walked down the steps of the ship into the hangar. "Carlist," he greeted.

"Everything going to plan?" Rieekan asked, moving towards him.

"If I'd know I was going to have to install a fully working medical facility," Pharl admitted, "I might not have been so optimistic about what we could achieve."

"Did you achieve it?"

Pharl shot Carlist a grin, "The medical facility is almost complete. We're running the last of the ducting now. The living quarters will take a little longer."

He gestured across the hangar, "Let's continue this in my office. I've managed to rustle up some kaffin…"

"I," Rieekan began, dropping into step beside him and delving into a jacket pocket, "managed to rustle up this."

He produced a bottle of Correllian Blue, holding it out to Pharl.

McQuarrie grinned, making a small sound of appreciation as he took the bottle from him, cradling it lovingly in his hand. "Now, that'll warm you up..." he enthused, then offered, "We can put a spot of this in the kaffin…"

"I like the way you think," Rieekan told him, sticking his hands back in his pockets. "Is it always this cold?"

"I've not been warm since I got here," Pharl admitted, "except for when I'm tucked up in bed."

"My sources tell me you've seen very little of your bed," Carlist accused, "even before this rush job!"

Pharl made a soft sound of disgruntlement, admitting, "Ice is a fickle beast. It moves and shifts and it can turn on you. After losing an engineer and having three others injured, I wasn't going to take any chances of more mistakes being made…"

"The privileges of rank," Rieekan quipped.

"Indeed" Pharl returned, memories of the dead engineer pushing at him. "Jayden Arington's safety was my responsibility and I failed him…"

"As your senior officer," Rieekan assured him, his voice reflecting his sincerity, "I give you my word that I will not, knowingly, fail you..."

Pharl smiled, looking at him. "I don't envy you that position, my friend, but I believe you with all my heart."

"You have been told that you're my second-in-command?"

Pharl groaned. "Then Gods help us!" He shook his head then asked, softly, "Well, as your second in command, can you let me know what the hell's going on?"

"We had a mission go badly wrong," Rieekan told him. "We've lost one pilot, another is seriously injured… Still another was interrogated by ISB…" He paused, before continuing, "Merivian was compromised."

Pharl whistled softly. "Our luck seems to be going from bad to worse… Did they all get clear?"

"We left two behind," Carlist told him, "but one's a survival specialist, so they should hopefully evade the Empire until we can get them out."

"Well that's something, at least…"Pharl offered. Another thought occurred to him and he asked, "Are the Merivian personnel coming here?"

"No," Rieekan confirmed before admitting, "At least, not straight away. The Gehndaaria mission wasn't a total failure," he explained. "They still managed to bring out five X-wings, so those X-wings are coming here, as are two other ships. One will definitely fit into the hangar with the fighters. The other might have to drop its cargo then stand off."

"We can sort that out when they arrive," Pharl told him. "How long before they get here?"

"Another few hours," Rieekan supplied.

"Well," McQuarrie told him, thoughts of Merivian forgotten as he turned his attention back to the business at hand, "simply storing the parts for the power generators will take a good deal of space, so in order to continue the secondary hangar excavation, I pulled engineers off the Command Centre build to work on your medical centre."

He gestured towards the large area of sheeting that ran the full length of the furthest wall. "We rigged a screen so that the excavation work could still go on without this area being contaminated with ice dust or similar debris." He pulled a face, "The last thing we need is a squadron engineer on the warpath because she's having to pull shards of ice out of T-65 engines…"

Rieekan chuckled, quipping, "That sounds like the voice of experience, General McQuarrie!"

Carlist shot him a sour look. "It was lava grains, not ice… And," he went on, "whoever decided to put a base beneath the cone of an active volcano needs their common sense looked at!"

"As I remember," Rieekan told him, "you and I discussed it at great length before we finally put the proposal before Alliance Command…"

"Well, they need their common sense looked at," Pharl shot back, "for listening to us!"

Rieekan chuckled and McQuarrie grinned, handing the datapad across to his more senior officer. "All the details of the base are on here," he told Rieekan. "We should be able to move the sheeting back another few feet before your ships arrive."

"Thank you," Rieekan told him, taking the pad.

"How badly wounded is the Gehndaarian pilot?"

"Enough to cause concern," Rieekan confirmed. He paused then went on, "It's Skywalker…"

Pharl looked at him. "Yavin Skywalker?"

Rieekan nodded then continued, "The Princess Leia is with them..."

Pharl looked at him, aghast. "Dear Gods, she wasn't the one interrogated, was she?"

"No," Rieekan assured him, then admitted, reticently, "I'm sorry, Pharl, I needed to make you aware that they were arriving, but I'm not at liberty..."

"To divulge mission details," McQuarrie finished as they reached his office.

"Not until they've had a full debrief," Rieekan confirmed. "Then, as my Second in Command, you will, of course, be fully informed."

He followed the engineer through the opening door as Pharl told him, "At the moment, my friend, I'm more concerned about trying to run ducting without undermining the structural integrity of the walls, than about about the details of a compromised mission."

oo0oo

Oston stepped out of the speeder, tugging his uniform jacket straight. It was the small hours of the morning and the almost-full moon was riding high in the sky, bathing the courtyard in pale, orange light.

Oston turned, offering his hand to Lyn Areese as she slid out of the speeder behind him.

He had tried to gain audience with the Manwah, hours before, without success. His visit had been gently, but firmly, rebuffed by Areese. She had assured him that the Manwah was aware that he was not complicit in Nabrood's removal. She had assured him that the Manwah would value his personal assurance and his continued support.

Her manner, however, had worried Oston. She had not been brusque or offhand, she had been as gracious as always, but she had also made it quite clear that he had not been welcome.

He had left the manor only because news had arrived of a Chieftain entering the city on her way to the manor.

"_Please, Governor, you must leave. Your presence will not be well received under the present circumstances_… _You have my assurance that the Manwah will contact you within the next few hours…_"

He had left, grudgingly. True to her word, however, a few hours later, she had appeared at the Governor's Residence to personally to escort him to the Diazez manor. Now, she led the way up the stairs into the entrance hall.

He followed her, expecting to be taken to the audience room, as he had before. Instead, she led him up the grand staircase. He followed, taking in every detail of the ornate corridors she led him along. As with the audience room, they were lined with fine artwork, although here there were no portraits. Instead there were scenes from what he assumed were the areas where the clans of the Diazez families lived: snow-covered mountains; rolling grasslands; ocean-washed rocky shores; deserts of black sand. There were display cases too, filled with items that he assumed were part of the Diazez families' heritage.

Areese paused outside a door. As it opened, she turned, ushering him inside.

Hair loose, wearing an ornately-embroidered robe that clung to her figure, Jenniiya stood up from behind her desk, moving to meet him. "Governor..."

"Manwah, I have lodged complaint with Emperor's private secretary," Oston began, taking her offered hand. "Lord Vader was acting out-with his remit! I am assured that his conduct will be investigated."

"Governor," Jenniiya assured him, "you are a friend to the Diazez clan and your involvement in this matter was never brought into question. We were always aware that, in breaking our agreement, Lord Vader was acting without your knowledge..."

"However, the agreement has been broken," Oston concluded.

"It has," she concurred then warned, "And the consequences will be far-reaching."

"A Council has been called," Lyn offered from behind them, moving towards the desk to pour the kaffin, "to place an explanation before the Chieftains."

"And if they do not accept the explanation?" Oston asked, already having an idea of the answer.

"Then the Manwah may face Interdict," another voice answered.

Oston turned, seeing the tall, grey-haired man for the first time. Sitting in a chair close to the door, Derwhen rose to his feet. "The first in three hundred years... And Jenniiya Elleba may be removed as Manwah."

"Governor," Jenniiya introduced, "may I present Chieftain Derwhen of the Kenwa Clan. He is a trusted friend."

Oston bowed in respect, remembering having read that Derwhen was the eldest of all the Chieftains. This was a man of only slightly less power than the Manwah: a man Oston knew should be kept on-side.

Straightening, he looked at the older man. "Lord Vader has not only placed the Manwah in a difficult position, but has undermined my authority as Governor. The Manwah and I had made an agreement. Only Antilles was to be removed. Nabrood was to remain under the Diazez families' authority."

Derwhen smiled at him, assuring him, "The Manwah has no argument with your conduct, Governor, nor does her Kenwa Chieftain."

Oston accepted the kaffin offered by Lyn, looking from Kenwa to Jenniiya. "I have petitioned the Emperor to have Nabrood returned."

Jenniiya kept her face carefully neutral as she sank into the chair. Returning Nabrood would not help the situation if an Interdict was called. However, having taken Nabrood by force, voluntarily returning him would be seen as a sign of weakness within the clans. If Interdict was avoided, she could use that.

If Interdict was avoided, she fully intended to force the Council into a vote: to lend the Rebel Alliance aid. Anything that made the Empire look unfit in the eyes of the clans would be used to good effect.

"Nabrood's return will be most welcome," she told Oston, then lied, "We have a noose empty, awaiting his neck." She smiled graciously, going on, "Now, Governor, you begged audience with us and we apologise sincerely for our tardiness."

"No apology is necessary," he assured her. "You have had other concerns… which are the reason for my visit. I have come, personally, to assure you that Lord Vader's actions run contrary to Emperor Palpatine's orders. I bring you copies of those orders as proof…"

"Such proof is welcome," Derwhen told him, "but will not mitigate the circumstances."

"As Manwah, I allowed Nabrood to be removed because the alternative was unthinkable," Jenniiya continued. "Without my order to stand down, my warriors would have prevented Lord Vader from taking him. It would have ended in bloodshed. Your Governorship would have been thrown into turmoil."

"You would have been forced to arrest the Manwah and declare martial law," Lyn added. "Anarchy would have ensued…"

Oston didn't deny it. He was well aware of what might have happened: of what might still happen. The very idea of it made his blood run cold. Events such as those, so close to Coruscant, would draw the Emperor's attention, for all the wrong reasons.

Derwhen watched the distaste was across the Governor's face. The Kenwa Chieftain trusted Jenniiya and Lyn's perceptions of the man: that he craved social advancement as well as political power. Such people would sell their own grandparents to climb one more rung on the ladder, their loyalties shifting easily in the winds. Derwhen had no doubt that if the Rebels were successful in their endeavours to break the Empire, Osten would be one of the first to bend his knee to Mon Mothma.

Dealing with such people left a vile taste in Derwhen's mouth. It was, however, a necessary evil… and Derwhen took solace in knowing that they were manipulating the man for their own ends.

"The old ways die hard," he began. "Our people are simple folk. Unlike the Manwah and your good self, they do not understand the subtle nuances of politics…"

He looked at Jenniiya, "The Kenwa Clan are led by their Chieftain, they take direction from me and allow me to make decisions on their behalf."

Turning his attention back to Oston, he continued, "But the Chieftains of the mountain clans, and those of the deserts, must take council and act as their clans decide. If the clans lose faith in the Manwah, if they believe the Manwah to be weak, they will demand Interdict to obtain proof of the Manwah's continued fitness to rule."

Looking back at Jenniiya, he finished, "And if the Manwah is found wanting, the clans will replace her."

"With someone," Oston concluded, dread crawling through his stomach, "who is not, perhaps, so politically astute. And anarchy may still ensue…"

"Governor," Jenniiya began, looking into her kaffin cup, "you act on behalf of the Emperor, who wants only what is best for Gehndaaria: to bring Gehndaaria into a new, bright future; taking its place, a precious jewel in the crowning glory of the Empire. In the few days you have been here you have proven your astuteness."

She lifted her eyes, looking at him. "We have made agreement and, despite those who would shatter that understanding for their own ends, we sit here, drinking kaffin, offering truths to break the lies that could have so easily been woven around recent events. The future is clouded, but I know my people."

Putting down the cup she looked back at him. "I ask only for time. I am certain the clans will listen, but the Empire cannot be seen to be involved. Allow me time for the Council," she went on, "and I will ensure you are kept updated about the proceedings. I will send you a personal courier."

Oston sat for a long moment, considering his position, weighing up the consequences of one action versus another. Finally, he nodded. "On one condition."

"Ask it," Jenniiya told him.

"The couriers are my officers," he decreed. "And I have an officer inside the Council room. Naturally, they need not wear Imperial uniform…"

"Agreed," Jenniiya confirmed.

Oston rose to his feet, "Then I shall take up no more of your time, Manwah."

Standing, Jenniiya moved towards him, holding out her hand. Oston took it, lifting it and dipping his head to kiss her fingers. "I will not return," he told her, "until you send word. In the meantime I will continue to press for Nabrood's release, into your custody, and secure an assurance that Lord Vader will be reprimanded for his actions."

oo0oo

Vader had arrived. Palpatine could sense the younger man's presence; feel the tightly controlled emotion that shifted within him. The Emperor turned, dismissing his aides, walking across to arrange himself at the huge windows overlooking the presidential sector of Coruscant. As the annex door closed behind his aides, he reached out through the Force, drawing open the doors to the outer office.

"Lord Vader."

The black-clad figure strode into the room, walking across the floor towards him, sinking to one knee. "Master."

From the moment Vader had embraced the Dark Side and moved against the Jedi, slaughtering them in their temple, he had been a loyal, unquestioning servant. His obedience had been absolute; his conviction sure and steady… that is, until his recent encounter with the Jedi relic, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Palpatine was unsure if it had been Kenobi's death alone, or if the Jedi's appearance had also brought back long-buried memories of a woman's caresses, but Vader had been preoccupied since his return from Yavin. This latest foolishness was an example of that fixation.

Vader needed to be brought back into line, reminded of the path he had chosen to follow. Gaze still fixed on the view across the cityscape, Palpatine ordered, "Rise, Lord Vader."

Behind him, the Sith Lord flowed to his feet.

"My orders," Palpatine began, "were for you to go to Gehndaaria, retrieve the Rebel pilot and return him to me, were they not?"

"Yes, my Master."

Palpatine turned, fixing Vader with a flat look. "Then, I bid you explain why I have received protest from Governor Oston that the Diazez traitor could not be interrogated because you had removed him to the Executor!"

Vader had known it was only a matter of time before Palpatine demanded that he justify his actions. Time was all he had needed, however: time to finish interrogating Yolan Nabrood; time to secure information about his son.

He had broken the Diazez man, finally, but he had known nothing. The man had only hidden the Rebels then secured a ship for them, using his authority as Diazez Secor to conceal it from the Manwah. Beyond that, the man had been able to give him no other, useful information.

"Master…" he began.

Voice dangerously quiet, the Emperor cut in, "You were instructed to bring Antilles to me! You were instructed to leave the matter of the traitor to Governor Oston! You disobeyed my direct… and explicit… order!"

"Master…" Vader began again.

The word was barely out of his mouth before Palpatine lifted a hand, driving him to the floor. Pain exploded like fire, ripping through him. The respiration unit failed and Vader found himself suffocating under the weight of Palpatine's power.

"You have forgotten your place, Lord Vader!" Palpatine spat. "Your encounter with your old Master has distorted your perception! The Republic is gone! The Jedi are gone! Padme Amidala is gone!"

He twisted his fist, watching Vader arch back. Taking a step towards him, he accused, "Must I remind you of her deception? Of how she plotted against us, betrayed you with Kenobi?"

Darkness dancing at the edge of his vision, crushed against the floor, Vader looked up at Palpatine. Anger and hatred churned within him. Padme was dead…

…_it seems in your anger, you killed her_…

Palpatine's lie had torn through him and in his despair he had believed it.

Only the Dark Side had given him the strength not to follow her into death as the footage of the funeral procession reinforced the deception. He had watched it, over and over… and each time another part of Anakin Skywalker had withered, until all that was left was shattered remains… and Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith who, after everything, had been unable to save her, just as Anakin had been unable to save his mother.

Vader, who had given unfaltering loyalty to the very deceiver who had driven him into the darkness: the man who had allowed him to believe that he had murdered not just Padme, but their unborn child…

_Luke_…

Who was far from dead; who had lived on Tatooine; who had been so tantalisingly within reach… if only he had known…

… _in your anger, you killed her_…

Palpatine's lies had left him craving to join in her death. Palpatine's lies had robbed him of his son.

The hatred washed off Vader in waves.

Mistaking the intent, sensing only the renewed focus, Palpatine stepped back, lifting the crushing pressure. All hint of preoccupation was gone. Vader was once again centred within the Dark Side of the Force.

Quashing a smile of victory, the Emperor turned, walking towards the dais at the end of the room.

The respiration unit hissed back into life, filling Vader's lungs with air, sweeping away the shadows. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, turning to face the Emperor as he arranged himself on the Imperial throne.

"I have been remiss," Palpatine told him, his voice soft, and heavy with condescending humility. "It is only natural that, having believed him dead for so long, the encounter with your old Master would have brought you disquiet. I have allowed you to spend too long alone. The apprentice should always return to the Master," he went on. "You will remain here, Lord Vader, at my side. We shall meditate and reflect together."

Beneath the mask, Vader clenched his jaw in frustration, but to do anything other than conform to the Emperor's wishes would be folly. He sank to one knee, bowing his head in obeisance, intoning, "As you command, my Master."

This time, Palpatine allowed himself a smile.

"The Gehndaarian traitor will be sent to a penal facility," he told Vader.

Leaving Nabrood alive would serve as a reminder to Vader of Padme Amidala's treachery. It would also be a punishment: a last link to her, placed beyond his reach.

"The Rebel will also be incarcerated once we have finished with him," Palpatine went on, resting his hands on the arms of the chair. "We may have use for him again."

He smiled. "Now, Lord Vader, bring Antilles to me."

oo0oo

Yolan Nabrood surfaced slowly into pain.

He was no longer chained to the roof, but the cold metal of the floor he lay on robbed him of warmth. He shivered, gently, as the pain intensified, trying to gather the strength to move into a less uncomfortable position… but when he tried to move, agony lanced through his chest.

The freshly-knitted ribs hadn't survived Vader's questioning.

He, however, had… as had the deception to save the Manwah.

He had held out against Vader's onslaught until he had grown too afraid of losing his mind in delirium and unwittingly blurting out the truth. Only then had he fed Vader the lies he had so carefully worked out.

He had known who Skywalker was, and his importance to the Rebel Alliance, from the moment he had been brought to the Manor. Skywalker had been wounded. That had made it easy for him to tell the Manwah that, despite the medical attention, he had died from his injuries, the body burned. Then all he had had to do was hide Skywalker until he could arrange a ship… which he had done just before Vader's arrival and the planetary lock-down.

Vader had believed the lies, turning, leaving him swinging on the chains. It had been stormtroopers who had cut him down, leaving him lying here in darkness.

The door opened, the lights snapping on and Nabrood groaned, realising that he may have been premature in thinking that Vader had believed him so easily. The man had obviously returned to question him again.

The footsteps that moved towards him weren't human, however. He dragged his eyes open, watching as the droid knelt beside him. Nabrood saw, but didn't feel the hypodermic needle as it slid into his vein.

Closing his eyes, Nabrood bit back a moan of despair. If this was the truth drug, the mind probe, everything would be undone. He was under no misapprehension: in his present, physical condition, he wouldn't have the strength to hold out against it…

Instead, a comforting numbness spread through him, dulling the pain. Nabrood frowned, disquieted by this turn of events. They were giving him medical attention. They wanted him alive.

The torture wasn't over yet…


	21. Chapter 21

Major Elhen Anders walked into the outer office, telling the aide, "I need to see Mon Mothma."

"She can't be disturbed, Major," the man told her. "She's in a meeting with the Command staff…"

"Good!" Anders told him flatly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "because they'll need to hear what I have to say. Announce me, please."

The aide hesitated for a moment. Then, knowing that with Major Torshan gone, Anders was the ranking Intelligence officer, he nodded, moving to the door. It opened at his approach.

Mothma looked up at him.

"My apologies, Ma'am," he announced, "but Major Anders insists on seeing you."

Rising to her feet, glancing at her Chief of Staff and her Minister of War, Mothma ordered, "Show her in…" The Major would only have interrupted this meeting for something vitally important.

Nodding thanks to the aide, Elhen moved past him, giving Mon Mothma, Riona Ambella and Vaelik Dræ a smart salute. "My apologies for the interruption, but there's something you have to see. May I?" she asked, indicating the screen set into the far wall.

"Of course," Mothma confirmed.

Elhen walked across, selecting a channel, turning the screen on. "The Galactic News Corporation just started streaming this newscast," she explained.

"…breaking news story, we're going across to Oshin-Dal Cohm, who is on Gehndaaria. Dal, what can you tell us?"

Mothma sank back into the seat, watching in growing concern as the image split to show both the anchorwoman and the reporter on Gehndaaria.

"Well," Dal offered, "we still have conflicting reports and I should stress that nothing has yet been confirmed officially, however it appears that at some point, early yesterday, a member of the Alliance to Restore the Republic walked into the Governor's Residence, here on Gehndaaria, and surrendered to Imperial authorities. First indications are," he went on, "that the man is Wedge Antilles, a Lieutenant Commander in the organisation. Now he, if you will remember, is wanted in connection with the attack on the Naval Space Station at Yavin and the attack on the Seinar shipyards, as well as other, terrorist activities…"

"Does this have anything to do with the reports of a planetary lockdown being instigated on Gehndaaria yesterday by the Imperial Navy?" the anchorwoman asked, leaning forward.

"It does seem very likely," Dal confirmed. "I can confirm that a planetary lockdown _was_ instigated and is, in fact, still in force. That order came from the Governor's Office, here on Gehndaaria. It was issued less than an hour after the Imperial Star Destroyer _Executor_ arrived in orbit. More interestingly," he went on, "one of the Emperor's most trusted officers, the Lord Darth Vader, was aboard the _Executor_ and was flown to the surface, the shuttle landing in the grounds of the Governor's residence just before the lockdown was announced. The feeling here is that that implies that the lockdown order came, not from the Governor, but from the Imperial Navy, possibly even the Emperor himself."

"So one could, in fact, conclude," the anchorwoman suggested, the smug look on her face showing how certain she was of her own deductions, "that both the lockdown and the arrival of one of the Emperor's most senior officers, would suggest that there is some credence to the reports of Lieutenant Commander Antilles defection from the Rebel Alliance."

General Dræ, Mothma's Minister of War, sucked in a hissed breath at the woman's words, his lips drawing into a tight line. He glanced at Ambella, the Chief of Staff, then looked across at Mothma, echoing softly, "Defection?"

Mon glanced at him, lifting her hand in a gesture of entreaty to say nothing more for the moment, focussing her attention back on the screen. She wasn't prepared to come to any conclusions or make any decision until she heard the entire report.

"Indeed, yes," Dal was agreeing. "Added to that," he went on, "are further reports of two ships attempting to break through the lockdown. Both of those ships appear to have been engaged and destroyed by TIE fighters, launched from the _Executor._ That, however, has not been officially confirmed."

"Do we have any indications of who were on those ships?" the anchorwoman asked. "Why were they trying to break through the lockdown?"

"Again," Dal apologised, "nothing has been officially confirmed, but early indications are that Antilles was one of four Rebel Alliance terrorists, here on Gehndaaria to meet with a Rebel sympathiser. The rumours - and I must stress that they are only rumours," he emphasised, "but the rumours are that one of those other terrorists is none other than Luke Skywalker, also wanted for questioning in connection with the attacks on the Naval Space Station and the Seinar shipyards. If those rumours are true, then it's highly probably that Skywalker and the two, other Rebel terrorists tried to run the blockade in an attempt to evade capture."

"So, just allowing a recap for those who may just have joined us here on GNC," the anchorwoman began, "Wedge Antilles, a Lieutenant Commander in the Alliance to Restore the Republic has surrendered to Imperial authorities. Three others, including the highly sought after Luke Skywalker, have been killed trying to escape."

Dal nodded, the expression on his face grave, "Yes. That does, indeed, appear to be the case…"

"Surely," the anchorwoman suggested, "that's going to be quite a body blow to Mon Mothma and her sympathisers? In fact, could Antilles' defection perhaps be an indication that the Rebel Alliance is fragmenting into splinter groups, that Mon Mothma is losing her authority within the organisation?"

Dræ swore, softly and succinctly, glancing at Mothma. She sat, serene and composed, her attention fixed on the screen.

"That," Dal admitted, "will be difficult to determine, at least until the circumstances are confirmed or denied, but from the initial indications here on Gehndaaria, that is a distinct possibility, yes…"

"I'm sorry to interupt," the anchorwoman put in, obviously listening to another, unseen voice, "but… we have more breaking news here at the GNC newsdesk…"

Dræ traded looks with Ambella, wondering what was coming next.

"The Emperor's Political Office has just released a statement," the anchorwoman was continuing. "A Rebel base on the Hrithil sector of Merivian has been destroyed…"

Mon Mothma sighed softly, telling Elhen, "Enough…"

The Major switched off the sound but left the screen on.

"If they're already trying to undermine Alliance unity," Ambella warned, "we have to be prepared for a thermal blind-side when the Empire finally confirm their so-called details…"

Mothma nodded, her mind racing over the possible scenarios that might be about to be released with the confirmation of the Lieutenant Commander's arrest. "Palpatine always was the master of manipulation and deception… It is impossible to predict his next move… or to foresee what Lieutenant Commander Antilles might be forced to say… There is little we can do to prepare."

"Our people are used to Imperial lies, Ma'am," Dræ assured her. "We can counter and disprove whatever is announced. "And," he reminded her, "it will give us time for Skywalker and the others to be debriefed."

He looked at Elhen, "How long until they reach Echo Base, Major?"

Checking her chronometer, Elhen told him "They should be there very shortly, General, if they're not there already."

"Then we are agreed," Mothma confirmed, "that we monitor the Imperial spin and wait until Torshan and Rieekan have completed the pilots' debrief before we make any further moves?"

"I agree," Ambella told her. "It would..."

"Wait!" Dræ interrupted. "Major, turn the sound up!"

A tall, slender man in Imperial uniform had just walked into shot and had stopped at the top of a set of stairs. Elhen turned on the sound.

"…Rizzaz Oston is about to make a statement," Oshin-Dal's voice announced.

"He's the Gehndaarian Governor," Elhen offered.

"Here it comes," Ambella murmured, softly.

oo0oo

Oston placed the datapad on the podium set up at the top of the stairs leading into the Governor's Residence. Clearing his throat, drawing himself to his full height, he looked out over the congregated throng of local and galactic media.

"Approximately forty-two hours ago, a man wanted for questioning in connection with acts of violence perpetrated against military and civilian locations within the Empire, surrendered to Imperial authority here in the Ghendaarian capitol."

Glancing down, checking the details he was about to feed the media, he went on, "Wedge Antilles, a Lieutenant Commander in the Alliance to Restore the Republic, has not only provided a frank and detailed confession of his crimes, cooperating fully with Imperial Security Bureau officers but, acting in conjunction with a team of bounty hunters, also attempted to deliver three other Rebel sympathisers into Imperial authority. Alissha Downhigher, a Lieutenant in the Alliance to Restore the Republic, was killed, attempting to evade arrest… Haniff-Brin Aksha, also a Lieutenant in the Alliance to Restore the Republic, was found dead. The circumstances surrounding Aksha's death are still under investigation, but it is believed that he was killed by the fourth Rebel terrorist, Luke Skywalker…"

Oston paused for effect, giving the reporters and news-crews time to digest the information before continuing, "Skywalker, a Commander in the Alliance to Restore the Republic, is still being sought, however it is believed that he died aboard one of two ships attempting to leave the Gehndaarian atmosphere. The ships were intercepted by fighters launched from the Star Destroyer Executor, and destroyed."

He paused again, sensing the mounting excitement in the gathered media. His advisors had informed him that the news community had been craving an explosive story since the Seinar debacle. Now they had one, and he could see that they were lapping it up. And he was about to add more fuel to their fire.

"Further information supplied by Lieutenant Commander Antilles," he announced, "has assisted in the location and subsequent destruction of a Rebel training camp in the Hrithil sector of Merivian. Rebel losses have not yet been confirmed, but only four T-65 fighters and one transport ship are known to have survived the attack. A number of Rebel personnel were abandoned on the ground and are currently being sought."

The excitement within the gathered media intensified again.

"Lieutenant Commander Antilles has been transferred to a more secure location and continues to cooperate with ISB officers."

He ran his gaze across the expectant faces in front of him then announced, "I will now take questions…"

oo0oo

"They'll not get the ship through the environmental doors," McQuarrie told Rieekan, looking at the data on the screen. "What sort of room will they need to land?"

Rieekan keyed the transmit switch, asking, "King Eagle, Echo. How close to the hangar can you get with that ship?"

"If you can set up a descent beacon," Hobbie Klivian's voice crackled over the speakers, "I can land this thing on top of it, Sir!"

McQuarrie turned to one of his engineers. "How much of that inter-ship-corridor rigging do we have?"

The woman looked at him, "Four thousand feet… in one-thousand foot sections."

"What are you thinking?" Rieekan asked him.

"I'm thinking that the weather here is as fickle as the ice," McQuarrie told him. "The wind's picking up and I'm pretty sure that by the time that ship lands, there'll be a white-out out there. Those pilots have been through enough without them freezing to death trying to get from the ship to the base… So, if they can't come in to us, we'll have to go to them."

He turned back to the engineer, ordering, "Break out a section of that rigging! We'll run it from the environmental doors to the ship. It'll give them some cover from the snowstorm."

"The full thousand will get whipped around in the wind, Sir," she warned. "We'll never get it paired with the ship's hull. Five hundred would be good. Three would be better…"

"If we get a beacon out there," Rieekan reminded them, "Lieutenant Klivian can land it within two hundred…" He pulled his com unit out of his pocket, "Toral, this is Rieekan. We need a mobile descent beacon."

"Slice the rigging," Pharl told the engineer as Rieekan spoke to his own people. "Give me three hundred feet, Lieutenant, just to be sure."

"Three hundred feet, aye, Sir... And run it from the doors?"

"Run it out to one-fifty initially," he told her. "We can move it out the last fifty feet once the ship's landed."

"As ordered, Sir," she confirmed saluting before turning and racing out of the semi-complete Command Centre.

oo0oo

Brin appeared at the flightdeck door, asking, "How long before we can land?"

Hobbie looked at him, "Not long. They're setting up a descent beacon for us to follow."

"Blizzard conditions on the surface," Alissha offered from the co-pilot's seat. "Visibility's negligible…"

Brin looked from her to Hobbie, unconsciously rubbing at the ache in his ribs, unable to believe their continuing run of bad luck. Wedge was gone. Luke's surgery obviously hadn't gone to plan. Yolan Nabrood had sacrificed himself. Now even the weather was conspiring against them. "This mission," he announced softly, "is cursed…"

"Well," Hobbie agreed, "let's hope we catch at least one break… otherwise they might never find us in the snow…"

"Don't even joke about that!" Alissha warned, then asked Brin, "How's Luke?"

Brin shook his head. "He's not good. He's running a fever. He's not been conscious since he woke before… Lainey's with him."

"We'll be on the ground soon," Hobbie assured them. "He'll be in good hands then."

Alissha looked at Brin, asking quietly, "How's Lainey doing?"

"She's too quiet," he told her. "She's struggling… " He sighed, shaking his head, "She's young…"

"You were young when you joined the squad," Hobbie reminded him. "Luke was younger..."

"Should have been in school," Alissha put in, softly, "not fighting a war…"

"The Empire brought the war to us," Brin reminded. "None of us chose to be here…"

Hobbie looked at him, countering, "You're wrong! Luke could have walked away with Solo!" he went on. "You could have joined the Imperial Navy! And you," he continued, looking at Alissha, "could have become one of those animals that attacked you on Gehndaaria! We all had choices! We all chose to be here! And we all knew what the consequences would be!"

Looking back at Brin, he admitted, "So maybe we didn't actually believe that it would happen to us, but we still stepped up, we're still here…"

"Wedge isn't…"

Hobbie sank back in the chair, rubbing his face with his hands, suddenly feeling a lot older than his twenty-six years. "No…" he agreed. "He's not… And it stinks… But we can't do anything about it… except keep fighting: for him and for everyone like him. For Alderaan, for the pilots who died taking down the Death Star at Yavin…"

The radio crackled into life, interrupting him, "King Eagle, Echo…"

Toggling the transmit switch, Hobbie answered, "Echo, this is King Eagle…"

"Descent beacon is activating…" Rieekan's voice told him. "Do you have it?"

Hobbie looked across at Alissha, who nodded, "Got it and locked."

"Locked and loaded, Echo," Hobbie confirmed.

"Roger, King Eagle, you are cleared for the approach," Rieekan ordered. "Report passing ten thousand feet: we're waiting for you…"

"Cleared for the approach," Hobbie read back as Alissha set up the descent profile. "Report passing ten thousand feet…"

oo0oo

Tarn Mison swung his legs over the edge of the X-wing, clambering down the side of the fighter, jumping the last foot to the hangar floor. Unfamiliar techs were swarming over his T-65 and he turned as an engineer asked him, "Any problems with her, Sir?"

Tarn shook his head, "No, Chief. She's flying straight and true…" He paused then asked, "Did we all make it off?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know. The Deck Officer might," she suggested, looking across the hangar, pointing him out. "He's over there, Sir…"

Tarn followed the direction of her finger, seeing Zev Senesca already in conversation with him. "Thanks, Chief," he told the engineer, tucking his flight helmet under his arm and jogging across the hangar towards Senesca and the Deck Officer.

As he drew closer, he could tell by Zev's body language that something was wrong. Wondering what in the fates had happened now, Tarn quickened his pace.

Zev turned, looking at him.

"What's up?"

Zev shook his head, still reeling from the news that the Deck Officer had just given him.

"GNC is reporting that Commander Skywalker is dead," the Deck Officer repeated. "They're saying that Skywalker killed Lieutenant Aksha… and that Lieutenant Downhigher also died, evading arrest…"

Tarn blinked, opening his mouth and then shutting it again. Then he swallowed and asked, "Did they say anything about Hobbie… I mean, Klivian…" he corrected. "Or Callen?"

The Deck Officer shook his head, "No, Lieutenant. The only names mentioned were Skywalker, Aksha, Downhigher… and Antilles…"

Zev looked at Tarn, "They're saying Wedge surrendered…. That he gave up Merivian…"

Tarn closed his eyes, shaking his head, unwilling to believe it. "Galactic is Imperial owned!" he accused. "You can't believe anything they say!"

"There's too many coincidences," Zev countered, softly. "The names… Chandra being evacuated then attacked…" He shook his head, "Smacks of something going badly wrong… At least there's a chance Hobbie and Lainey are safe…"

"Wedge wouldn't have given Chandra up!" Tarn disputed.

"He… may not have had a choice," the Deck Officer put in.

Tarn shook his head, "I'll only believe that when Command confirm it!"

oo0oo

Ljana Castell rose to her feet as the door opened to admit Imperial Advisor Alec Pradeux. He moved towards her, giving her a broad smile, holding out his hand. "Major Castell, welcome…"

Castell saluted then shook his proffered hand. "Thank you, Sir…"

"I have heard much about you…" Pradeux told her. "Rizzaz Oston speaks very highly of you!"

Castell gave Pradeux her most gracious smile. "The Governor and I have worked together for many years. His guidance and patronage have been invaluable."

"An officer such as yourself," Pradeux purred, "should rise to the level of her abilities, Major. And I think I can guarantee you a future where your talents will be put to good use. The Emperor," he went on, "was most impressed with your work."

Ljana fought to keep the elated smile from spreading across her face. Instead, she dropped her head, modestly looking at the floor, telling him, "I live to serve the Emperor and the Empire."

"And you have done so, very well," he assured her. Then he turned, looking at the dark-haired man who stood, dressed in the orange flight suit of a Rebel pilot, flanked by two stormtroopers. "This is Antilles?"

"It is, Sir…"

Pradeux considered the young Rebel for a long moment. He was pale, dark smudges standing out beneath eyes that were focussed a million miles away: or deep inside. "He looks unwell…"

"Unavoidable, Sir," Castell told him. "He was badly injured when he was delivered to us: shockstick to the spine. He was stubborn during the interrogation," she went on, "and the mind-wipe process is always hard on the body as well as the mind. He'll deliver what is required of him," she assured Pradeux.

The Imperial Advisor smiled at her, "I have no doubt he will, Major."

The door opened again, admitting a junior aide, who announced, "They are ready…"

Castell turned, moving to stand in front of Antilles. "Lieutenant Commander?"

The brown eyes focussed slowly on her.

"You're going to give your interview now," she told him. "Do you remember we spoke about it?"

He nodded, slowly, "Yes…"

"Do you remember what you need to do?" she asked.

He hesitated for a moment then told her, "I read a confession… then answer some questions…"

She smiled, caressing his cheek with the back of her hand, "Good. Very good. Now," she went on, stepping back and indicating Pradeux. "This gentleman is Imperial Advisor Pradeux. He will show you the way. I will be right behind you. Do you understand?"

Antilles nodded, "Yes…"

Castell gave him a reassuring smile, then stepped aside.

Alec Pradeux looked at the Rebel for a moment longer and then turned, telling him, "This way, Lieutenant Commander!"

Wedge glanced at Castell then took an uncertain step forward.

Castell motioned to the stormtroopers, who grasped Antilles' arms to guide him, following Pradeux from the room. Ljana moved in behind them, only part of her attention on the news conference that was about to take place. The rest of her mind was racing, going over and over what Pradeux had said.

_An officer such as yourself should rise to the level of her abilities, Major. And I think I can guarantee you a future where your talents will be put to good use. The Emperor was most impressed with your work_…

Only hours before she had been elated at the thought of being transferred to Vader's staff. Now there was every possibility that she would rise even higher…

_The Emperor was most impressed with your work_…

She allowed herself a smile.

Then she pushed the thoughts away, bringing her full attention back to the matter at hand. Everything could still come crashing down around her if Antilles failed to perform. The news crews had been handpicked; they had been primed on the questions they were to ask. There was always the possibility, however, that Antilles' conditioning would start to unravel, or that a question, posed the wrong way, would confuse him, leaving him bewildered and unable to continue. In which case, she would have to recognise the signs and act quickly to save the situation.

The door ahead of them opened.

Castell followed Antilles through, staying behind him as the stormtroopers guided him to stand in front of a podium. Letting go of his arms, they moved to the side, leaving him alone.

Ljana stepped forward, putting a datapad on the podium, touching Antilles' back gently, telling him softly, "Go ahead, Lieutenant Commander."

Wrists still in binders, Wedge lifted his hands, resting them either side of the datapad, as he and Castell had rehearsed. Then, slowly, he began to read.


	22. Chapter 22

Part 22

Major Elhen Anders stood at the back of the room, behind Mon Mothma and her Command staff, watching the viewscreen as the stormtroopers escorted Wedge Antilles into shot and up to the rostrum. The Lieutenant Commander looked drawn, exhausted. There was no sign of bruising on his face, no obvious evidence of maltreatment. Not that Elhen had expected any. Parading him in front of the media, the Empire would have made sure he appeared unharmed.

A female, Imperial officer put a datapad on the rostrum in front of him then moved back. There was a short pause then Antilles began, "My name is Wedge Antilles. I held the rank of Lieutenant Commander in the Alliance to Restore the Republic."

His voice was hoarse, the words carefully formed. He didn't lift his gaze but kept his attention focussed on the datapad on the podium.

"I stand accused of sedition and treason, charges that I do not deny."

General Dræ, Mothma's Minister of War, shook his head, muttering a profanity beneath his breath. Mothma glanced at him then turned her attention back to the screen.

"Nor do I deny the charges of murder brought against me," Antilles continued, "for my part in both the destruction of the Naval space station at Yavin, and the attack on the Seinar space yards. At the time I believed I was acting in the best interest of the citizens of the galaxy…"

He paused before continuing, "However, since then, my beliefs have changed. I have come to realise that the actions of the Alliance to Restore the Republic will plunge the galaxy into a civil war that will rip the Empire apart."

Elhen watched Antilles closely, listening not to what he said, but the way that he said it. There was no trace of an attempt to code what he was saying by stressing certain words; no sign of a pattern of eye movement or blinking; nothing at all.

Antilles' voice was slow, but not slurred, and Elhen doubted that he was drugged… or at least, drugged heavily enough to make him speak against his will. She wouldn't make any final conclusion until she'd run the footage through voice and image analysis, but from what she was seeing right now, it looked very much like the mind-wipe concerns of the Diazez Manwah had been founded.

"Away from the propaganda of the Rebel Alliance," Antilles was considering, "with time to consider, without Rebel misinformation, and aware that I am not alone in my growing concerns, I seized the opportunity to take responsibility for my actions. I chose to surrender to Imperial authorities, and stand accountable for the crimes I have committed against the Galactic Empire and Imperial forces."

oo0oo

Alec Pradeux stepped forward as Antilles finished speaking. He glanced at Castell, who inclined her head, indicating that, in her opinion, Antilles was fit to continue.

"Lieutenant Commander Antilles will now answer questions," Pradeux announced, choosing the first of the pre-arranged correspondents.

The young woman stood up, "Jenith Antaar, GNC," she announced. "Lieutenant Commander, you've said that your beliefs about the Rebel Alliance have changed. What, in particular, do you now have concerns about?"

Wedge lifted his head, looking out at the sea of faces and lights, his gaze settling on the woman who was standing up. "I now believe that the Rebel Alliance was founded on the lies of those who supported the Jedi sedition and their attempt to assassinate the Emperor before he became the galaxy's sovereign ruler. They were traitors within the Senate, attempting to undermine him. They failed, but they still strive to undermine him. Their attempts will create only civil war. The galaxy will collapse in chaos…"

Pradeux chose the second of the correspondents, who stood up. "Burr Eltuc, Colonial Echo," the man introduced. "Lieutenant Commander Antilles, are you now saying that the Rebels are wrong, that you no longer agree with their attempts to undermine the stability of the Empire and overthrow the Emperor?"

Wedge looked at him, "I believe that only the Empire, guided by its sovereign ruler, can ensure stability, and a safe and secure society."

"Vyra Temic," the next journalist introduced, "Independent News. The Gehndaarian Governor has reported that Lieutenant Aksha was found dead… Can you shed any more light on how he died?"

The answer sprang into Wedge's memory… but it brought with it a flood of grief. He closed his eyes, swamped by an image of Brin, lying dead on the floor. It reared up, robbing him of the ability to speak, guilt slamming at him.

_Your friends are lost to you. Downhigher has gone. Skywalker is dead… Aksha is dead…_

Pradeux frowned as he saw the colour drain from Antilles' face and realised that the Rebel was beginning to flounder. He looked across at Castell. The Major had already stepped forward. She covered the microphone with one hand, gently grasping Antilles' elbow with the other.

"Wedge? Lieutenant Commander?" she demanded softly.

Emotion roiling in his chest and stomach, Wedge dragged his eyes open. He felt sick. He couldn't breathe. His hands were shaking.

He turned his head, looking at the woman.

She said his name again and he finally recognised her. Relief swept through him, pushing away the grief. His mind latched onto her presence: a lifeline holding him afloat against unravelling sanity. He knew who she was. Her name was Castell. She had let him shower. She had given him something to eat.

The panic faded. He still felt sick, but the tremor in his hands subsided.

"Do you need to stop?" she asked.

Antilles swallowed, taking a deep breath, shaking his head. "No…"

She gave him a smile, lifting her hand from the microphone, dropping it gently onto his shoulder as she turned away. The gesture reassured him. He had done the right thing. She was pleased with him.

Castell looked across at Pradeux, giving him a single nod, indicating that Antilles was able to continue. Then she stepped back into her place, standing off to the side.

"Perhaps we could have that question again, Ms Temic?" Pradeux asked, smiling graciously.

The woman returned his smile then looked at the Rebel, "Lieutenant Commander, Governor Oston has reported that the circumstances surrounding Lieutenant Haniff-Brin Aksha's death are still under investigation… Can you shed any more light on how he died?"

Antilles looked at her. Then, softly, voice almost breaking, he answered, "He wanted to come with me… He believed as I did… Skywalker killed him…"

A small murmur of sound washed across the room. Pradeux watched a forest of datapads appear above the heads of the assembled media as the statement pushed almost every journalist's hand into the air in an effort to be chosen to ask the next question.

The bait had been taken. By this time tomorrow, Pradeux knew, every media outlet across the Empire would be carrying the story of a fragmenting Rebel Alliance, of how Skywalker had turned against his own men, killing them because they were beginning to question the Jedi-influenced propaganda that had filtered down through the ranks from Mothma and her cronies.

Bringing his attention back to the present, Pradeux announced, "One last question, ladies and gentlemen…"

He smiled, then continued, "which I shall give to one of your most esteemed colleagues… Hydel?" he invited, indicating an older, rotund man in the second row, who heaved himself to his feet.

"Why, thank you, Adviser Pradeux," he drawled, before introducing himself. "Hydel Premtis, Coruscant Gazetteer. Lieutenant Commander, you admit that the Rebel Alliance was built on lies, that the Emperor is the only, valid, option for continued peace in the galaxy. I would like to ask you, how should we deal with the Rebel Alliance threat?"

This time, to Pradeux's satisfaction, there was no hesitation as Antilles answered, "The Rebel Alliance must be hunted down and defeated, swiftly and decisively, as the Jedi were before them."

oo0oo

"I've heard those words before," Mothma commented softly as, on the screen, the stormtroopers moved in on either side of Antilles and escorted him away from the podium.

Her Minister of War looked at her, frowning, "Where?"

"Those are words Palpatine has used…" she told him. "Traitors within the Senate; only the Empire, guided by a sovereign ruler, can ensure a safe and secure society; hunted down and defeated, as swiftly and decisively as the Jedi? Those are all things that Palpatine has said."

"I appear before you now to assure you of the continuance of the security and stability we have enjoyed in our society," Elhen offered, reading from a datapad in her hand. "To ensure this, the Senate has voted to transform the Republic into the first, galactic Empire: an Empire which will be ruled by the Senate, guided by a sovereign ruler! I, humbly undertaking to be that ruler, pledge to you that it will be a safe and secure society: ruled by the majority and by a new constitution!"

"That's it," Mothma agreed.

"The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated," Elhen continued. "All collaborators will be similarly dealt with: swiftly and decisively!"

She lifted her head, "Palpatine's first broadcast to the galaxy after being declared Emperor, Ma'am." She thought for a moment then suggested, "The report from the Diazez ship suggested that Antilles was being mind-wiped. If that is the case, it makes sense for them to utilise Palpatine's speeches in the process…"

"Whatever has happened, we must prepare a response," Mothma's Chief of Staff put in, "if only to tell our own people. They will have heard these broadcasts. They will be concerned about Antilles, Skywalker and the others… We must answer this before the rumours fill in the blanks…"

"We can't answer anything until we find out exactly what happened," Mon countered.

"We can give an interim response," Ambella disagreed. "We can admit that the mission went wrong and that Antilles was arrested and interrogated, that Skywalker and the others were also injured but are on their way back to Rebel lines." She leant forward, entreating, "Give them something, Mon…"

oo0oo

Pharl McQuarrie stood just inside the open end of the inter-ship-corridor, watching the shadowy shape of the cargo ship as it landed in the snowstorm only a few feet away. His worst-case scenario had thankfully not yet transpired and although the snow was falling thick and fast, the wind had stayed at a manageable level.

A light flashed at them from the side of the ship, telling them that the hatch was open.

"Okay, people," Pharl ordered, "move it in…"

The rigging extended slowly, pulled towards the ship by a grave sled. The bulk of the freighter solidified slowly through the snow into a more recognisable object as they moved closer. It took a painfully slow few minutes before the end of the rigging finally touched the side of the ship. It wouldn't be an airtight seal by any stretch of the imagination, but it would be good enough to keep the bulk of the snow off of the medics who jogged along the corridor towards him, pushing a gurney.

As his engineers engaged the magnetic locks to secure the end of the rigging against the ship's hull, McQuarrie stepped up into the docking hatch, frowning as he found the corridor empty.

"Anyone home?" he called.

Two women appeared at the end of the corridor. They both stopped, saluting him, "General."

McQuarrie moved towards them, his eyes narrowing as he saw the bruising on the taller woman's face. One eye was swollen almost totally shut. "Are you okay?"

"A little shaken, Sir, but we'll be fine," she told him then continued, "Commander Skywalker's not doing so well, though."

"There's a medical team right behind me," McQuarrie assured them. "And a Major waiting to debrief you… He's got some jackets for you too."

He glanced back, seeing the medics coming in through the hatch behind him. Turning back, he looked at the smaller of the two pilots. "Can you take the medical team to Commander Skywalker?"

She nodded, already turning, "Yes, Sir…"

"Lieutenant Downhigher?" a voice asked from the hatch as the medical team followed Lainy.

McQuarrie turned as the woman with the bruised face saluted again, "Yes, Sir?"

"This is the Major I spoke about," McQuarrie supplied.

Palo Torshan walked toward them, introducing, "Torshan. I'm one of the team who'll be debriefing you, Lieutenant." He paused then told her, "It's good to see you."

"It's good to be here, Sir," she assured him.

He touched her shoulder, indicating another woman who was waiting at the hatch. "Go with Lieutenant Farnisson. She'll take you to the medics to get that eye seen to. If you need anything, ask her…"

"Thank you, Sir," Alissha told him, starting to move forward. Then she stopped, looking back at Torshan, asking, "Is there any news, Sir? Of Wedge… Lieutenant Commander Antilles?"

"GNC are reporting his arrest," Torshan confirmed, gently. "It's the usual Imperial propaganda… We've not been able to corroborate anything yet. The moment we do," he assured her, "we'll let you know."

She nodded, turning and walking towards Farnisson. The Lieutenant helped her into a jacket, telling her, "It's a mite colder out there than where you've come from…"

Torshan watched Farnisson guide Downhigher out of the ship then turned, nodding to the General before heading into the ship. He followed the sounds of voices, climbing a steep staircase to the general living area. There were two corridors leading off of it. In one, two men and a woman stood, huddled together, their attention focussed inside what Torshan assumed to be the room where the medics were tending to Skywalker.

He walked towards them, stopping as the woman saw him and nudged her companions. All three turned, saluting him.

"Lieutenant Klivian?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir?" the shorter, more slender man asked.

"Is the ship secure?"

"As far as I can make out, Sir, yes," Hobbie confirmed, "but I'm not completely familiar with this class of ship. The engines are shut down, as is power… except for life support."

"And the X-wings?"

"Locked down in the hold, Sir," Brin supplied. "Although they've not been checked since we landed."

Torshan nodded, assuring him, "The techs will see to that… once we have you sorted out." He paused, then went on, "I appreciate that you want to stay with Commander Skywalker, but I have to insist that you all come with me."

He held up his hand as they started to protest, countering, "Commander Skywalker is in good hands. And I won't begin your debrief until you've all been given the once-over by the medics. Lieutenant Downhigher is already on her way there." He stepped back, indicating the way to the exit with his hand.

Reluctantly, the three pilots moved toward him.

"Has there been any word about Lieutenant Commander Antilles?" Brin asked.

"GNC are reporting his arrest," Torshan told him, echoing his words to Downhigher, "the usual Imperial propaganda. We've not been able to corroborate anything yet, but the moment we do, we'll let you know."

oo0oo

Jenniiya took a deep breath then, Lyn and Barylo at her back, she walked through the doors into the Council chamber. The Chieftains rose, almost as one, saluting her with palms pressed across their hearts.

Taking her place at the head of the table, Jenniiya sank into the chair, Lyn standing to her right, Barylo to her left. The Chieftains also took their seats, leaving only Derwhen Kenwa standing. As the elder Chieftain it was his place to begin the proceedings.

"The Council of the Diazez Clans is brought to continuance," he began.

A Chieftain rose to her feet, interrupting, "Apologies, Derwhen of the Kenwa, but this council cannot be continued!"

Derwhen looked at her, "Jilbh, of the Reogin, speaks. Say you more, Reogin?"

The Chieftain looked from him to Jenniiya, telling the Manwah, "Diazez politics are for Diazez ears and eyes alone. There is one here who has no clan!"

Jenniiya looked from the Chieftain to Derwhen, who gave her a small, almost imperceptible, nod.

Jenniiya had made an agreement with Governor Oston: Oston would give her the time that she needed to calm the threat of Interdict as long as one of his men was present at the council meeting. The presence of an Imperial Officer in the Council Chambers would complicate things, but Jenniiya had been willing to work around it to secure the safety of the Diazez clans.

Now it appeared that Derwhen had found a way to have the officer removed. Jilbh was kin to Derwhen, having married his cousin's son. Derwhen had obviously asked for her help.

Jenniiya looked back at her, "Reogin eyes do not fail them. The man is a guest, a representative sent from Palpatine of the Galactic Empire."

Jilbh inclined her head in respect. "A man who commands esteem… but he is not Diazez. The charter is clear. His representative must be removed until we speak of trade and commerce."

This was not the first time a foreign delegate had been witness to Council discussions. The exact letter of the law, in that matter at least, was hardly ever followed. So much so that Jenniiya hadn't thought of it. Derwhen, older and far more knowledgeable, obviously had.

Jenniiya inclined her head to Jilbh, then stood, looking around the Chieftains. "The Reogin intend the Imperial representative be removed. Who stands with them?"

There was a pause while the other Chieftains conversed softly with their secretars. Then, slowly, one by one, they rose to their feet. Only Takeil of the Ashaanai, injured in a riding accident, remained in his seat, but he lifted his crutch into the air.

"The Council has spoken," Jenniiya confirmed. She turned, "Captain Lekk?"

Lekk stepped forward, "Ma'am."

"The Council bids you leave the chamber," Jenniiya told him, "until we have need of you."

Lekk hesitated, but only for a moment. Governor Oston wanted him here because Lord Vader's actions had possibly compromised the Manwah's position and Oston wanted inside information. His only concern, however, was that, if Jenniiya was replaced, her successor might cause problems for him.

Lekk knew that insisting that he stay in the Council would only complicate that situation even more.

Saluting smartly, he told Jenniiya, "I concede to the Council's bidding."

Jenniiya stayed on her feet until the door closed behind Lekk. Then she sank back into the chair. The Chieftains also sat down, all except Derwhen who began once again, "The Council of the Diazez Clans is brought to continuance, reconvened and in session. Let all, here present, speak without fear of repercussion, for in this Council nothing is taken beyond the safeguard of these walls. This is the first of the Rulings of the Chieftains, placed before us all to secure the unbroken peace. Let all, here present, declare agreement… or suffer banishment."

All the Chieftains, and Jenniiya, agreed, "We so declare!"

"So continues the Peace of the clans," Derwhen confirmed, nodding to Jenniiya before sitting in his seat.

Jenniiya rose to her feet, looking around the table. ^_Jenniiya Manwah shanteh men bh'an, p'wret ma'an rae!_^ she announced in ancient Gehndaarian. ^_Deir bhed llien onth sett gae'en…^_

The repeated thump of metal against the wooden floor interrupted her. The Ashaanai Chieftain struggled to his feet, accusing, "The Manwah professes to rule for the good of the clans, to protect them above all else! And yet her judgement is flawed!"

And so, Derwhen thought gloomily, it begins.

He stood up. "Takeil, Chieftain of the Ashaanai Clan, accuses Misjudgement," he announced before rebuking gently, "The Council suggests he take his seat to prevent further injury! And asks what evidence he brings for such accusation?"

Takeil eased himself back down into the chair, unable to cover a small groan of pain. He sighed softly, telling Derwhen, gratefully, "I thank the Council for their concern." Then he went on, "The Ashaanai bid the Manwah, produce Yolan Nabrood! In his presence, the Ashaanai accusations shall be recanted!"

All eyes turned from him to Barylo.

Another Chieftain rose to her feet. "Regretfully, Manwah," she apologised, "Daershen eyes witness a new Secor standing at your side. The Daershen were not informed of Yolan Nabrood's incapacity. We have no choice but to support the Ashaanai in their call to bring Yolan Nabrood before this Council."

Jenniiya rose to her feet, bowing her head first to Takeil and then to Bheilik, the Daershen Chieftain. Head held high, she announced, "Yolan Nabrood cannot be brought before this Council."

The Council room erupted in noise. Only Takeil remained sitting.

He sat, watching the Manwah as she stood, serene and composed at the head of the table: her head held high as the noise echoed off the walls around her. When the call for order came, it was from him, not Derwhen. As accuser, it was his right. He banged his crutch on the floor, wincing as the movement sent shards of pain up his spine.

"Silence!" he roared.

Derwhen joined him, yelling over the cacophony. The voices lessened to a murmur, then stopped, the Chieftains once more sinking into their seats.

Derwhen rose to his feet as silence finally fell across the Council. He turned to Jenniiya. "Manwah, where is Yolan Nabrood?"

"The explanation is not a simple one," Jenniiya told him. "Will the Council hear my full response?"

Jilbh Reogin rose to her feet. "The charge of Misjudgement is most grave," she told Jenniiya. "Such an accusation, laid at the feet of the Manwah, may invite Interdict… the first in three hundred years." She looked around the table, continuing, "The Elleba have guided is justly and without favour since then. I judge that we hear out Jenniiya of the Elleba!"

Takeil lifted his crutch instead of standing. "The Ashaanai have levelled the accusation of Misjudgement, but we will hear Jenniiya of the Elleba."

Derwhen turned back to Jenniiya, telling her, "The Council will hear your full response, Manwah."

Jenniiya nodded then looked at Barylo. "Bring the bounty hunters in."

oo0oo

Carlist Rieekan watched from the bridge of the ship as the three pilots were ushered out of the rigged-up corridor and across the hanger, towards the medical facility. One of them, the taller, dark-haired man, walked carefully, as if he was trying not to cause himself too much pain. Haniff-Brin Aksha, Rieekan surmised, remembering the details he'd just read about the interrogations. That meant the lighter-haired man was Klivian and the woman would be Callen. He had already seen Downhigher escorted to medical.

"General?"

Rieekan turned.

"The surgeon reports that Commander Skywalker's condition is stable enough for him to be moved," the comms officer told him. "They're bringing him out now."

"Thank you," he acknowledged. "Once General McQuarrie's people have their corridor retracted, let the Princess know she can bring her ship in."

"Yes, Sir," she confirmed.

"If anyone wants me," he went on, "I'll be with those pilots… but I'd rather not be disturbed for a while… My compliments to General McQuarrie, he has the base."

She nodded, assuring him, "Understood, Sir. I'll inform him."

Turning, Rieekan headed through the ship, towards the exit. As he walked down the ramp onto the ice floor, Torshan was walking across the hanger towards him.

"How are they?" Rieekan asked him.

"Pretty shaken," Torshan offered, "especially Callen… but we'll make sure they get the help they need. I don't think we should interview her alone, though. I'd rather have Klivian in with her."

"Agreed," Rieekan concurred, starting to walk towards the medical area. "Skywalker's stable enough for the medics to bring him out," he told Torshan, then asked, "I assume they've asked about Antilles…"

"They have," Torsha confirmed. "I told them that GNC are reporting his arrest, but that we've not been able to corroborate anything."

The datapad in Rieekan's hand beeped at him. He looked at it, scrolling through the information. Sighing softly, he handed the pad to Torshan. "The Gehndaarian Governor just made a statement."

Frowning, Torshan took the pad, reading the report. He swore softly, then apologised to Rieekan. "Sorry, Sir…" Shaking his head, he continued, "They certainly know how to spin a story…"

The General nodded in agreement, "That they do, son. So let's find out from these kids what really happened…"

oo0oo

The warm brightness of the late, evening sun momentarily blinded him as the stormtrooper escort guided him out of the building and onto the landing deck. He shied away from the light, stumbling slightly as it stabbed pain through his head.

_Get clear, Wedge... _

The stormtroopers' grip on his arms kept him moving forward as anxiety and confusion fluttered dully in his belly. The voice was familiar. He couldn't place it, but it pulled a ripple of dread through him.

The cool of a shadow blocked out the golden warmth of the sun. He dragged his eyes open, seeing but not recognising the black bulk of the shuttle ahead of him. The stormtroopers marched him towards it, pushing him up the ramp.

_Get clear, Wedge... _

An image, of a blond man with a ready smile, floated up from his memory. Grief and guilt flowed in, turning in his chest.

Luke, he remembered... The man's name was Luke...

_Skywalker is dead..._

Wedge dragged in a trembled breath, moaning a soft denial.

_Your friends are lost to you..._

Another image swept in, of a dark-haired man lying lifeless on the floor.

"Brin..."

His skin had still been warm... but there had been no pulse. He hadn't been able to find a pulse...

_Skywalker is dead... Aksha is dead... Skywalker killed him_...

Wedge faltered, struggling to stay on his feet as the stormtroopers dragged him forward.

_I am sorry, my friend. There was no other way..._

_Leave him alone! He's injured, damn you!_

Another image slammed at him: a tall man in Imperial uniform with a disdainful smile.

He'd thought he was prepared... He'd thought he had steeled himself... but the sight of the Imperial Officer had terrified him...

_Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles... I have very much been looking forward to this_...

_Let me help you, Lieutenant Commander__..._

No one could do anything to help him. He was a traitor… dishonoured… Even the waelven had abandoned him, wouldn't touch him… He was condemned to wander in the half-light between life and death.

_I chose to surrender to Imperial authorities, and stand accountable for the crimes I have committed against the Galactic Empire and Imperial forces._

The pain and fear expanded in his chest. He dragged in short, panicked breaths, closing his eyes as his world tilted. His legs gave way. The stormtroopers dragged him the rest of the way into the shuttle, dumping him onto the floor before stepping back and sitting down. Beneath him, the deck plating began to vibrate gently as the shuttle's engines thrummed into life.

As darkness swept in, dragging him down, a woman's voice mocked softly, "_You're all alone_…"

oo0oo

From the balcony of the room where he waited for the Emperor, Vader watched the shuttle lift from the landing pad. It turned, climbing away through the atmosphere. It was, he knew, taking Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles to the Star Destroyer _Adjudicator_.

The Diazez traitor had also been transferred to the _Adjudicator_ but, restricted within the palace and aware that Palpatine was having him watched, Vader had been unable to find out more than that.

He watched the shuttle until it was lost above the stream of other traffic. Then he turned, striding to the centre of the room, sinking to his knees. He would meditate, calm his emotions, submit to Palpatine's bidding, bide his time... until he found a way to access the Diazez traitor...

Or until he found a way to get to his son.


	23. Chapter 23

Part 23

Tarn Mison sat in the briefing room, flanked by Zev and Janson, watching the image of Mon Mothma on the holoscreen. Composed, regal, but with the sadness and concern evident on her face, she was explaining the series of events that had lead to the evacuation of Chandra Base and the subsequent media streams of Wedge Antilles apparently defecting to the Empire.

"The reports of Lieutenant Aksha and Commander Skywalker's deaths are false," Mothma's hologram confirmed softly. "Both are safe within Alliance circles and receiving medical attention. Commander Skywalker was badly injured," she admitted, "but he is responding to treatment and is anticipated to make a full recovery. All efforts are being made to confirm Lieutenant-Commander Antilles' location."

She paused, her clasped hands tightening, briefly, before she continued. "Our evidence indicates that his statements in front of the media on Coruscant were coerced..."

A quiet murmur swept across the room. None of the assembled personnel had any doubt about what Mon Mothma meant by 'coerced': Wedge Antilles had been tortured. Beside Torn, Janson swore, softly but succinctly, fists clenching so tightly in anger that his knuckles stood out stark white against his skin. Torn muttered in agreement, remembering the distress that had flickered across Wedge's face when the female journalist had asked about Brin...

"We will continue in our endeavours to find Lieutenant Commander Antilles," Mon Mothma assured them, "and do what we can to bring him home."

Another murmur swept through the hall.

"In the interim," she entreated, "while the Imperial machine uses this situation to attempt to undermine the resolve of all of us within the Rebel Alliance, I ask that you consider carefully everything you have heard, and will continue to hear, in the galactic newscasts. They will contain deliberate falsehoods as well as measured half-truths. We do not deny that Alliance personnel are missing," she admitted, "but they number far fewer than the Emperor's political office have intimated. Rumours of splits within the Alliance Command Staff are just that," she assured them, "rumours. General Drae, the Minister of War, and Riona Ambella, the Chief of Staff, stand resolutely at my side."

The camera view moved out, showing Drae and Ambella sitting either side of Mon Mon Mothma, at a long desk.

"We cannot deny," General Drae began, "that these are trying times for the Alliance... but our faith in the cause, and our resolve, have not been diminished."

"We must all stand firm," Ambella offered. "Only by standing strong, together, can we ensure our commitment to restore the Republic."

"Together we can remove the tyranny of the Empire from the galaxy," Mothma finished. "Together we will prevail..."

The image faded. For a long moment there was silence. Then, slowly, in muted conversation, the assembled Rebel personnel began to disperse.

"I knew there was something wrong," Zev said softly.

"Well, great," Torn derided quietly, "You're a genius!"

"I was only saying," Zev shot back.

"Quit it!" Janson ordered, anger flaring. "Wedge is MIA and all you two can do is bicker?"

"Do you think they'll find him?" another voice asked.

Janson turned, looking at Dack. The youngster had joined them only days before Chandra had been evacuated. Sighing, shrugging, Janson admitted, "I don't know, son. I honestly don't know."

"If they do," Torn quipped, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little, "don't ever play sabbac against him..."

Dack frowned. "Why? Is he good?"

"No," Torn told him, "he's bloody useless, so I don't want him losing to you too! He already owes me fifty credits!"

He stopped, and Janson almost laughed at the expression on the other pilot's face as he suddenly realised just what he had said. "Hey!" Torn accused, slowly, "they better bloody get him out! He owes me fifty credits!"

oo0oo

Luke drifted awake to the steady, familiar sound of a heartbeat monitor. He dragged his eyes open.

"Oh! Master Luke! You're awake!"

Luke frowned at the familiar voice, turning his head, "Threepio?"

"Her Highness and Captain Solo have been so worried!" the droid told him, turning and heading for the door, calling, "Captain Solo! Captain Solo! Master Luke is awake!"

Luke tried to sit up, but a gentle hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. "Let's not try to jump before we can walk, shall we, Commander..." the Medical Specialist told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

He looked up at her, then around at the unfamiliar room, asking, "Where are we?"

"Safe," she told him, running a mediscanner over him. "I'm sorry, Commander, I'm under orders to tell you nothing more until General Rieekan speaks to you. However," she went on, "I can tell you that you're healing well and that the antibiotic is working. The infection is almost gone."

"Infection?"

"With major surgery," she explained, "there's always the risk of complications, including infection. The surgeon who repaired the damage to your heart did a rather fine job, but the wound got infected."

"Hey, kid!"

The Specialist groaned then turned, intercepting Han Solo as the Corellian walked into the room. "Out!" she told him, then stepped to the side, staying in front of him as he attempted to walk around her. "Out!"

"Aw, come on, sweet cakes..." Han tried, turning on his most devastating smile.

"Two more minutes," she assured him, placing her hand on his chest and pushing him backwards, "then Commander Skywalker can have visitors. Right now, you need to move yourself outside, or this sweet cake will fill your attractive arse full of sedative!"

"Ah," Han countered, allowing himself to be pushed backwards, "so you finally admit that you're attracted to me!"

"I said you had an attractive arse," she contradicted. "Unfortunately, it's attached to a hugely overdeveloped ego, for which there is no known cure..."

Luke chuckled softly, closing his eyes as Han countered, "Ego? Me?" Then he shouted, "See you in a minute, kid!" through the closing door.

"You have to give him points for trying," Luke commented softly as he heard the soft whine of the mediscanner again.

"He is incorrigible, that's for sure."

She shut the mediscanner off, telling him, "We should have you up and about later today, Commander. I'm very pleased with your progress. With any luck we'll be able to operate tomorrow to repair the tissue damaged by the infection. Now," she went on, tapping the small unit attached to his chest, "this is administering the antibiotic, as well as monitoring your heart, so try not to dislodge it, okay?"

Luke nodded, "Okay."

"Good," she smiled. "Right, let's get you sitting up..."

oo0oo

"Major Torshan and General Rieekan have viewed the recordings the Diazez Manwah gave to the Princess Leia. They confirm that, apart from Chandra Base, Antilles and Aksha divulged nothing of tactical importance..."

Mothma sat forward, frowning in distaste at the matter-of-fact way Elhen Anders had given her the information.

"I am sure," she rebuked, softly, "what you meant to say, Major, was that despite being drugged, beaten and driven to the edge of their endurance, Lieutenant Commander Antilles and Lieutenant Aksha revealed little that could damage the Rebel Alliance, compromising only Chandra..."

Anders stopped short, looking at Mothma. She said nothing for a moment, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before finally acknowledging, softly, "Yes, Ma'am. Forgive me… I intended no disrespect."

Mothma opened her mouth... and then closed it again, realising that she had been overly harsh on the Intelligence Major. Anders job was to provide facts, untainted by supposition or emotion: reliable information on which Mothma could make informed decisions. Anders could not allow emotion to cloud her representation of the facts.

Sinking back in her chair, Mothma apologised, "No, Major, it is I who should ask your forgiveness. You discharge your duty admirably... while I allow myself to become overly emotional..."

Shaking her head, Mothma laughed, softly and without humour, finishing, "A flaw you would most definitely not witness in Palpatine's throne room…"

Anders quirked an eyebrow. "Ma'am," she began, "emotion has its place… Without emotion to temper our actions, the ends begin to justify the means… and we become no better than Palpatine..."

Mothma looked at her, a slow smile tugging at her lips. "Once again you discharge your duty admirably, Major. Your point is well made. Forgive me. Now," she continued, leaning forward, refilling their kaffin cups and bringing her attention back to the Major's briefing, "what of the pilots themselves?"

"Haniff-Brin Aksha suffered no long-term physical injuries during his interrogation," Anders offered. "Alissha Downhigher has suffered no long-term damage either. And the medical specialist is hopeful that Skywalker will return to light duties within the next few days."

She paused, then went on, "General Rieekan, Major Torshan and the Princess Leia jointly made the decision that the pilots should be told about Merivian being compromised. General Rieekan broke the news to Lieutenant Aksha before leaving him in the hands of a counsellor. The Princess and Major Torshan informed Downhigher, Klivian and Callen. They're also being given counselling."

"And the Commander?" Mothma asked.

"Either General Rieekan or the princess Leia will break the news to him when the medical specialist says that he's strong enough to be debriefed."

"And do we have any information on Lieutenant Commander Antilles?"

"Antilles was on Coruscant only long enough to deliver his supposed confession," Anders supplied. "After that he was moved. Beyond that we have no confirmed information. However," she went on, "the Diazez man, Nabrood, was taken from the _Executor_ around the same time as the _Adjudicator _broke orbit: and that was within an hour of Antilles' statement. I believe," she concluded, "that both Antilles and Nabrood are on the _Adjudicator_. And none of our sources can tell us where it was going."

She took a deep draw on her kaffin before telling Mothma, "Something's going on, though. There are unconfirmed reports that Vader is under close arrest and confined to the Imperial Palace. Oston's been rattling his cage and whining about Vader causing a 'diplomatic incident' on Gehndaaria but Palpatine's never been concerned with that sort of thing before..."

"Indeed, no..." Mothma agreed, trepidation fluttering in her belly as she found herself wondering if Vader had finally put the pieces together and come to the realisation that Luke Skywalker was his son.

Palpatine's orders had been for Vader to transport Wedge Antilles from Gehndaaria to Coruscant. Instead he had interrogated Antilles before turning his attention to Yolan Nabrood: not to obtain information about the Rebel Alliance, but to discover the whereabouts of Luke Skywalker.

Lifting her kaffin, she stood up and moved across to look out of the viewport at the stars beyond.

Leia Organa's report about the events leading up to the destruction of the Death Star at Yavin, in particular the names Skywalker and Kenobi had brought back memories that Mothma had all but forgotten. At the reception following the medal ceremony, Mothma had cautiously quizzed Luke Skywalker.

"_I mourn with you on the passing of your family… and of General Kenobi. I had the honour of knowing him, before the fall of the Jedi…"_

_Luke's eyes had brightened with unshed tears. Blinking them away, he had admitted, "I didn't really know him that well… but he knew my Father…" He'd taken a deep breath then continued, "My parents died when I was little…"_

"_Then perhaps I knew your father also," she had pushed. "What was his name?"_

_Luke had lifted innocent, blue eyes to hers, telling her, "Anakin Skywalker… Ben said he was a Jedi," he had continued, "that he was killed by Darth Vader..."_

_His answer had confirmed Mothma's suspicions. There were few who knew of Darth Vader's background, but Bail Organa had confided in her. He had said nothing of a child, however. It appeared the information had also been kept from his son: a shrewd move, possibly the only thing that had kept Luke alive long enough to reach manhood._

_The thought of this shy, sincere boy being reared under the influence of the Dark Side of the Force had sent a tremor of revulsion through her belly._

"_I knew of your father, although I did not know him well," she had offered. "He served courageously and with distinction in the Clone Wars. Your own courage honours his memory..."_

_Luke had beamed with pride, although a slight hint of embarrassment had coloured his cheeks._

Mothma had known then that if she had been able to put together the pieces, it would only be a matter of time before Vader did the same. From his actions at Gehndaaria, it appeared that Vader might finally have realised who Luke was.

Another, more disturbing thought came to her: if Vader was under close arrest, was it simply for disobeying orders... or was Palpatine also aware of who Skywalker was, and knew that Vader was trying to find him?

Mothma sighed, turning back towards Anders and the briefing. That was something that couldn't be answered for the moment. Nor was she willing to share her concerns with anyone. Bail Organa had seen fit to keep Vader's son a secret. For the moment, Mothma would do the same.

Walking back to the table, she sank into the chair, bringing her attention back to more immediate concerns. "Do we know how badly the Diazez Cartel might be compromised?"

"There's been nothing in the Gehndaarian Governor's diplomatic communiqués," the Major told her. "And trying to contact the Cartel might have detrimental effects if they're walking a tight line."

"So we're running blind," Mothma concluded.

Anders nodded, "For now, Ma'am, where the Cartel is concerned, I'm afraid we are."

oo0oo

The door chimed and Jenniiya glanced at Lyn before ordering, "Come!"

Barylo walked into the room, bowing deeply, telling her, "Manwah, the Council ask that you return to the chambers..."

Taking a deep breath, Jenniiya rose to her feet, smoothing down her gown before walking towards him. He moved aside, letting her pass him, dropping into step behind her. Lyn followed, a discreet distance behind.

If Nabrood had been at her back, Jenniiya would have asked him what he sensed of the mood of the council. Barylo had only just been thrown into the position of Secor, though, so she hesitated. Finally, however, not wanting to go into the situation blind, she asked, "Secor, what do I face in the chamber? Could you discern the Council's disposition?"

"Manwah," he apologised, "I regret, I was paying little attention to the Council's mood. My concern lay more with getting your person out of the Manor should the vote go against you..."

Jenniiya stopped, turning to look at him, puzzled by his statement. "Secor," she countered, "should the vote go against me, I will no longer be Manwah. You will have no allegiance to fulfil on my part..."

"Lady," he contradicted, "my allegiance will always be to you, as Yolan Nabrood's was. I have no head for politics, but Nabrood trusted your judgement, and I will follow his lead."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, reminding her, "He could have denounced you, thrown you to the Imperials and seized the position of Manwah. As Secor, that was his right. Instead, he chose to sacrifice himself for you... and for the Innocents under our protection... He freely gave himself over to pain and death to save you all from that horror..."

His lips pursed into a tight line of distaste as he shook his head, then continued, "I know what they suffered, Lady. The Empire Lord has no honour. He attacked an injured man to force the truth from Nabrood. The Council's decision to remain neutral is flawed. Times have changed. If the Council call Interdict, I will not simply stand aside and watch you disgraced and exiled."

"Barylo," Lyn began, wondering if he was implying what she thought he was: that he would abandon his duty to the clans to follow Jenniiya into exile.

He turned to look at her, then looked back at Jenniiya. "There is a wagon in the courtyard. There is a ship waiting at the port. I have the word of Ranna Sahj that there is a place for us within the Rebel Alliance."

Jenniiya blinked, completely taken aback by her Secor's words. "You... You would accept exile with me?" It was unthinkable that his loyalty to her would outweigh his loyalty to the Clans. If it was true, how many others believed the same...?

"I will follow you to the Rebel Alliance," he confirmed. "I will not allow Nabrood, Antilles and Aksha's sacrifice, in the face of cowardice, to go un-honoured."

He bowed his head, "Your actions may have been unsanctioned by the Council and may have brought the Rebels here, but your reasoning was sound. We can no longer stand back, turning a blind eye to what is happening out with the Clans."

Jenniiya swallowed, looking at Lyn before turning her attention back to Barylo. She stepped forward, reaching out to lay a hand gently on his shoulder. He lifted his head, looking at her.

"If Interdict is called, and I pray it is not," she told him, "but if it is, I will place myself in the hands of my Secor. If it is not," she went on, "you, I and Lyn will discuss this in more depth."

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Taking another, deep, breath, Jenniiya turned and walked the last few steps to the door of the Council chambers. They opened at her approach and she moved through. The Council came to their feet, waiting until she had taken her place, Barylo and Lyn flanking her, before sitting down.

Nerves fluttering in her belly, Jenniiya schooled her face into calm assuredness, resting her hands on the arms of the chair.

Derwhen Kenwa stood. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Jenniiya Elleba, the Diazez clans have heard your response to the charge of Misjudgement. The Council has deliberated and have pronounced their judgement."

Jenniiya flowed to her feet, standing tall and proud. "What is the Council's judgement?"

"The Council decree that the charge of Misjudgement is unfounded," Derwhen announced.

Jenniiya had to lock her knees to stop them shaking as relief swept through her. Emotion rose in the back of her throat and she swallowed it down.

Takeil Ashaanai struggled to his feet. Bheilik Daershen also rose to her feet.

"Manwah," Takeil told her, "the Ashaanai called Misjudgement to protect the clans. No disrespect was intended."

Jenniiya nodded, assuring him, "The Manwah is not above reproach. The security of the clans comes before all else. Within these walls, any man or woman may be brought to task, including the Manwah."

She looked around the table, decreeing, "No disfavour will be shown to the Ashaanai or to the Daershen. Instead, we applaud their foresight in bringing this matter before the Council. Takeil," she finished, allowing her expression to show her concern for the Ashaanai Chieftain, "you are in distress. There are matters that must be discussed, but the Council can recess if you require a physician..."

Takeil sank into his seat. He nodded. "The Ashaanai will gratefully accept a recess..."

Jenniiya turned to Lyn, ordering, "Have his physician taken to my private offices. They are closer than the Ashaanai rooms."

Lyn nodded, turning and leaving as Jenniiya looked back at the assembled Chieftains and their attendants. "This Council will recess until Takeil of the Ashaanai has rested. Refreshments await you in your rooms. I will send word when the Ashaanai are fit to return."

oo0oo

Yolan Nabrood lifted his head then pushed himself up into a sitting position as the cell door opened and two stormtroopers moved inside. A black-uniformed officer followed them in. Giving Nabrood a look of cold disdain, the officer ordered, "Stand up, scum!"

Nabrood climbed carefully to his feet, keeping the discomfort from showing on his face as his ribs protested the movement.

The stormtroopers moved forward, turning him, grabbing his wrists and securing them behind his back. Nabrood didn't resist as they took hold of his arms, manhandling him out into the corridor, following the officer. There was a time to fight, but this was not it. This was a time to save his strength to deal with whatever was coming next.

He had been moved from Vader's ship to another. The subtle shift in the vibration of the deck had warned him that they were travelling in hyperspace. Beyond that, and the fact that they had subsequently dropped back into normal space, he had no information.

Hunger crawled dully through his stomach.

Clenching his jaw against the discomfort from his ribs, he kept his head down but paid careful attention to where he was being taken. It was doubtful that he would find any chance to escape, but he refused to sit back and be a victim. He was a Diazez Secor. Disgraced, perhaps, but he would not allow the memory of his name to be completely tainted.

They guided him into a repulsor lift and he took careful note of the deck number they were going to. The door opened onto another, busier corridor and he was escorted along it. Finally he was pulled through another door, into a hangar and towards the sleek, black shape of a shuttle.

For a brief moment he entertained the thought that they might be returning him to Gehndaaria and Jenniiya. Resolutely, he pushed down the small flare of hope, berating himself as a fool. Vader had proven that Gehndaarian politics meant nothing to the Galactic Empire. They would break agreements as easily as they made them if it suited their purpose...

As easily as Vader had tortured an injured man in an effort to extract information from another...

Nabrood took a slow, deep breath, pushing away the anger that reared up in his chest. He had to remain calm, keep his wits about him.

The stormtroopers pushed him up the ramp, into the shuttle, turning him and forcing him down onto his knees. The Imperial officer watched the proceedings, a cold smile pulling at his lips.

"We have a cosy, little room waiting for you... and your Rebel friend!" he taunted derisively.

The words pushed renewed purpose through Nabrood. Keeping his expression neutral, he lifted his head, risking a look at the officer. Was it possible that Antilles was still alive?

The man said nothing more. Instead, he turned and moved back down the ramp.

Nabrood dropped his head, re-evaluating the situation. If Antilles was alive, his duty was clear: to do what he could to protect the Rebel pilot. Hunger and discomfort forgotten, Nabrood gathered his wits and his strength.

He didn't have long to wait. Booted feet clumped up the ramp.

He lifted his head, jaw clenching in anger. Antilles was moving under his own power, but only barely. He was dressed in an orange flight suit. He was pale, too pale for Nabrood's liking, a sheen of sweat dusting across his forehead. His face was blank, devoid of emotion, and he sank obediently to his knees at the stormtrooper's order.

Nabrood watched him, willing the Rebel to see him... but there was no awareness in Antilles' gaze. The pilot looked through him, consciousness focussed beyond rational understanding... or too deep inside to be touched by the outside world.

The white-armoured soldiers moved back, sitting down as the shuttle's ramp retracted and sealed shut. The deck beneath Nabrood's knees shuddered and tilted slightly, telling Nabrood that they had launched from the ship.

Closing his eyes, he dropped his head.

Antilles was unwell: not unsurprising after everything he had been subjected to since the bounty hunters' unsanctioned attack. Nabrood wasn't sure if he was simply suffering from withdrawal from whatever drugs Castell had used on him, or if his mind had shattered under the stress of what he had suffered. Either way, the Rebel pilot was vulnerable. And it was Nabrood's duty to do whatever was within his power to protect him.


	24. Chapter 24

Part 24

Alec Pradeux smiled warmly, finally allowing himself the time to appreciate the athletic figure of the woman who was shown into his office. She moved gracefully, the white uniform hugging her form. He held out his hand as she saluted, "Lieutenant Colonel, welcome."

Castell took his proffered hand and he shook it warmly, continuing, "The Emperor is most pleased with your efforts, Lieutenant Colonel. Antilles' performance was exemplary! That slight hesitation before answering the question about Aksha had them eating out of his hand... or, more correctly, _your_ hand. It was, after all, your orchestration."

A small flush of pride dusted Ljana's cheeks as she assured him, "I live to serve the Empire, Sir."

"And you are a credit to both the Empire and to your family. Now," he went on, ushering her towards a small group of sumptuous chairs separated by a low table, "have you had time to read the dossier you were given?"

She nodded, "I have, Sir."

"And your thoughts?" he asked, sinking into one of the chairs.

"With the facilities I have been given and with the time to reinforce the programming, I don't foresee any problems," she assured him.

"He is older than Antilles," Pradeaux pushed.

"Age isn't too great a factor," Castell assured him. "His medical records indicate that he is in good health. He will be monitored closely during the process, and I won't be working to the same time constraints as Antilles, so the physical stress will be mitigated. There is, of course," she admitted, "always the chance of something unforeseen happening, but I have ready access to medical facilities."

"Good! Good!" Pradeux enthused. "Mothma and her sycophants believe he is dead," he crowed, "but he was intercepted before leaving Coruscant. He has been held in a secure facility since then. The Emperor arranged his return after hearing of your intention to mindwipe Antilles... His ship has docked and he is being brought straight here. He will be with us directly."

"And he has been told nothing of what has happened since his arrest?" Castell asked.

"He has been kept very carefully incommunicado," Pradeux assured her.

A soft chime sounded. Pradeux pushed himself to his feet, telling Castell, "He is here. I will follow your lead from here, Major. He is your subject."

Ljana rose to her feet, turning to look at the door as it opened. The man who walked into the room, flanked by red-armoured Imperial guards, was changed from the photograph in his dossier. He remained the tall, regal Senator that she remembered Oston vilifying on the media streams, but his hair had turned silver and the robes he wore accentuated the thinness of his frame.

"Pradeux!" he accused, eyes narrowing, face clearly showing his disdain. "I should have known that you'd have a hand in this. The Senate will not take kindly to..."

"The Senate," Ljana interrupted softly, "was dissolved shortly after your arrest."

Bail Organa looked at her, the shock on his face flowing quickly into dismayed resignation. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "So Palpatine finally secured the absolute power he craved..."

"The Emperor took control," Castell countered, "at a time when factions within the Senate threatened sedition… as your arrest, and that of Mon Mothma's ably demonstrated!"

"With Senators no longer trustworthy," Pradeux added, derision heavy in his tone, "the Emperor had no choice but to take complete control."

Bail looked from Pradeux to the ISB officer, saying nothing. Questions raced through his mind, prompted by the news of the dissolution of the Senate, questions he didn't dare ask: about Mothma, about the Rebel Alliance…

He refused to believe that Mon Mothma had been arrested. They were trying to bait him. Her escape plans had been too carefully laid. She had told no-one where she had been going, and she had left before... before the news of Leia...

They had intercepted him only because they knew where he had been going... to Alderaan... to lay Leia to rest...

Thoughts of his daughter dragged the ever-present grief and guilt up into his chest, constricting his heart.

She had been on a mission for him, for the Rebel Alliance: a mission so important that the very survival of the Rebel Alliance had depended on it. He had never believed the story they had spun of how the _Tantive IV_ had been destroyed. Deep in his gut he knew it hadn't been an asteroid strike. Leia had died at the hands of the Empire...

She had been so young, so like her mother... He should never have allowed her to go.

Taking a slow, deep breath, he pushed away the anguish, knowing that if he succumbed to it, it would leave him unable to think clearly. Swallowing down the constriction in his throat, he turned his thoughts back to the present.

"Does your Emperor still have his pet Jedi at his side, or has he outgrown his usefulness?"

"Lord Vader is alive and well," Pradeux supplied.

"Unlike your precious Rebel Alliance," Castell put in.

She watched the emotion flicker across Organa's face and knew that she had found a weakness to exploit. She smiled at him, walking towards him. "Forgive me," she purred, "I forget that you have not been allowed access to such information..."

Turning, she looked at Pradeux, asking, "May I inform former Senator Organa of what has happened since his arrest, Sir?"

Pradeux inclined his head, giving her a small smile, "You may..."

Turning her attention back to Organa, Ljana began, "Your attempts to secure the plans of the Death Star and hand them over to the Rebel Alliance failed. Your daughter's ship was intercepted by Lord Vader as she attempted to contact the Jedi relic Obi Wan Kenobi."

Organa made a valiant attempt to keep his face neutral, but she saw the slight tightening in his jaw in reaction to Kenobi's name.

Ljana had done her research. Kenobi had associated with Organa before the fall of the Jedi. He had arrived on the Death Star on a ship that had blasted its way out of Tatooine. Leia Organa's ship had been intercepted en-route to Tatooine.

Ljana did not believe in coincidence. The Organa brat, she had concluded, had been looking for Kenobi. Organa's reaction had just confirmed her suspicions. It would lend credence to the story she was about to feed him.

"Both your daughter and General Kenobi died during questioning," she continued. "The stolen plans were found hidden in a droid... The Rebel Alliance never received them... Your daughter died in vain..."

Bail shook his head, swallowing down the emotion that reared up again. He tried to tell himself that this was a trick, that they had lied about Leia's death once, that this was another lie... but...

_Obi Wan... They knew about Obi Wan_...

Ljana saw the emotion in his eyes. She smiled. "Your sedition, and your daughter's, gave Moff Tarkin his first target for the Death Star," she told him. "You should be grateful that you were arrested. Everyone else on Alderaan died when the planet was destroyed... Closely followed by the assembled Rebel terrorists on Yavin 4..."

Ljana watched Organa reel under the weight of the information. He shook his head, refusing to believe... but there was too much truth in what she had said for him to deny it completely. She could see the confusion written clearly on his face.

She motioned to the guards, who stepped forward, grasping Organa's arms.

"Take him away," she told them.

"No!" Organa protested, trying to throw them off. "You're lying! What do you hope to gain from these lies? Pradeux, damn you! What do you hope to gain?"

Castell turned, walking towards the Imperial Advisor as the guards dragged Organa out. Pradeux gave her an appraising look. As the door closed, he asked, "How do you plan to continue?"

"No food, no sleep and the Death Star recordings of the destruction of Alderaan," she provided, "coupled with the media coverage that followed... By this time tomorrow he will be ready for the first stage of the process..."

oo0oo

Nabrood kept his head down as he was pulled to a halt. He had made sure his head was lowered all the way through the facility, although he had memorised the route back to the main entrance. He had no idea how he would get Antilles off this planet, but if the opportunity presented itself, he would at least be able to get him out of the facility.

To his left, a hatch hissed forward then slid to the side. The stormtroopers released his binders then grasped his arms and shoved him through the door. He stumbled, but regained his balance, grunting in pain as his ribs protested the movement.

The stormtroopers pushed Antilles inside as Nabrood turned back towards the door. Then the hatch slid back into place and sealed shut.

Antilles stood, unmoving, seemingly unaware. Nabrood frowned, standing for a moment in thought before turning, his gaze running across the walls of the cell. There were no obvious recording devices that he could see, but he knew they would be there. Instinct told him that they had been thrown into the same cell in the hope that their conversation would reveal more information. It was a ruse he had used countless times himself.

Nabrood had no intention of saying anything. All he had to do was prevent Antilles from unwittingly divulging anything.

He turned, looking at the Rebel pilot.

The lights went out, leaving them in darkness.

Nabrood heard the small sound of panic Antilles made. He had no idea what horrors the Rebel had suffered under the drugs and sensory deprivation of Castell's tank, but he knew that to leave Antilles in darkness now could unravel what was left of the pilot's mind.

Moving forward, knowing exactly how many paces to the door, Nabrood called, "Wedge? Brother?"

He reached Antilles, grasping his shoulders. The Rebel was shaking, his breathing coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Brother," Nabrood told him gently. "Come... You should rest."

Grasping his elbow, placing a steadying hand against his back, Nabrood manoeuvred him slowly towards the far end of the cell. "We will sit against the wall," he announced, filling the silence, "and talk of the great victories of our people, share songs of their deeds..."

Antilles' breathing had calmed a little, but he was still shaking. Nabrood let go of the pilot's elbow to reach out, searching for the wall as they moved forward. His fingers brushed the cold steel and he stopped. Turning Antilles so that the pilot's back was against the wall, he told him, "Sit down, brother."

Only when Wedge was settled on the floor did Nabrood sit beside him. "You were a guest in my home for such a short time," he began, filling the darkness with words, "and our hospitality was not as it should have been. I shall remedy that when we return, brother. You shall receive a true Gehndaarian welcome."

Wedge sat in the darkness as shadows and pinpricks of light floated around him. There was a voice in the darkness, too: a soft, low rumble: steady and measured. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the voice, recognising that he had heard it before… It was a reassuring sound, tempering the panic. It kept the shadows at bay. They still moved and twisted in the darkness, but they kept their distance...

The voice talked of war, of a conflict that had taken many lives and almost destroyed the clans. It spoke of two chieftains, cousins by marriage, who had forged a diazez, a treaty of peace, taking their people up into the mountains, away from the devastation of the warring clans. It told of how, over three generations, more clans, weary of war and of watching their children die in battle, had leant their agreement to the diazez, until the warring clans were outnumbered by those at peace.

Eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall, Wedge soaked in everything the voice told him until the exhaustion finally overtook him. And, as he drifted to sleep, he thought he heard the soft, steady beat of the waelvyn's wings in the darkness above him.

oo0oo

The five T-65s had been moved from the ship into the hangar. Hobbie, the other pilots, and the engineering crews were hard at work, trying to find the answer to why the weapons systems wouldn't come online.

"Hey, kid!"

Hobbie looked up from the open cockpit of X-wing, searching the hangar for the owner of the voice, a small flare of hope pushing through his chest. There was only one person Han Solo called 'kid': much to Skywalker's embarrassment.

Solo was stalking across the hangar floor and Hobbie twisted around to look in the direction he was heading, smiling as he saw Luke making his way out of the med section towards the Corellian spacer.

The Commander was up and about. Somehow that made Hobbie feel a whole lot better...

"Try that, Lieutenant!" a voice called from below, bringing Hobbie's attention back to the matter at hand: inoperative weapons.

Luke smiled at Solo, raising a hand in greeting. "Han," he berated as the Corellian reached him. "I'm a Commander in the Rebel Alliance... 'Kid' kind of undermines my authority around here..."

Han quirked an eyebrow, grinning and reminding him, "You have no authority around here, kid. You're still under restricted duty! Grounded, remember?"

Shaking his head in good-humoured disgust, Luke sighed, knowing he was never going to win the argument. He had a feeling that, no matter how old he was, or what rank he held, he was always going to be 'Kid' to Han.

"Have they got the weapons working on the X-wings yet?" he asked.

Han shrugged, dropping into step beside him. "Don't know. Her royal princess-ship has been a royal pain in the neck and the General's been busy, so Chewie and I have been keeping ourselves pretty much to ourselves."

Luke chuckled, remembering the encounter in the med section earlier, when Leia had threatened to summon security and have them bodily remove the Corellian from the room if he didn't leave under his own, free will...

"She's got a lot on her mind, right now, Han," Luke pointed out. "Cut her a break?"

Han grunted, noncommittally, saying nothing for a few steps. Then, softly, he offered, "I'm sorry about Wedge..."

Grief fluttered in Luke's chest and he pushed it away, asking, "Has there been any more news?"

"Torshan says that they're still trying to find out where he is," Han supplied. "After they made him give that performance on Coruscant he disappeared. He's not on Coruscant any more, they know that much at least."

If he wasn't on Coruscant, it might make it easier to rescue him once they did find him, Luke considered. Although getting him out of Coruscant under Palpatine's nose would have been one hell of a coup. It had been done before. Mon Mothma had been spirited off Coruscant one step ahead of the Imperial guards who had been dispatched to arrest her.

"Don't even think about it," Han told him.

"What?" Luke frowned.

Han quirked another eyebrow at him. "I can read the 'rescue-Wedge' expression on your face, kid."

"We can't just leave..." Luke began.

"We don't plan on just leaving him," Han interrupted. "Torshan's already working on something. He's a good man. Leave him to it."

"Han," Luke tried.

The Corellian stopped, looking at him. "Two days ago you almost died, Luke! You may be up and walking, but I reckon you'll make it across the hangar and probably most of the way back to the medical section and then you'll be too exhausted to take another step!"

Luke blinked, taken aback by the vehemence in his friend's voice. "Han..."

Solo glared at him, then sighed, running his hands across his face, relenting, "Sorry..."

He lifted his head, giving Luke a wry smile, "Chewie and I... we were worried..."

"I'll be fine," Luke began.

"Not if you go rushing off on some hair-brained rescue attempt!" Han warned.

"Captain Solo is, for once, quite right!" another voice put in.

Han groaned, rolling his eyes and pulling a face.

Luke turned, smiling at Leia as she embraced him and kissed him on the cheek. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I've been better," he admitted.

She stepped back, giving him a soft smile, resting her hand on his arm. "General Rieekan wants you in debrief," she told him.

"Again?" Han put in. "The kid's only just out of sick bay!"

"Commander Skywalker," Leia informed him, "has been deemed fit for light duties. If you believe differently then I suggest you enlist in the Alliance and address your complaint through official channels!"

Han opened his mouth, as if to say something. Then he threw up his hands in disgust and turned, stalking away towards the Falcon, muttering something about "complaint by committee."

Luke watched him go then looked back at Leia. "Things that good, huh?"

Leia made a small sound of derision, confirming, "The man is insufferable! He arrived here without clearance, as bold as you like!" she went on. "General Rieekan only allowed him to land because he was putting the base at risk..."

"He was worried," Luke tried.

"We were all worried," Leia countered. Then she stopped, shaking her head. Finding a smile, she slipped her arm into Luke's. "General Rieekan won't keep you long," she assured him. "Then we can have something to eat and have a good, long chat..."

oo0oo

Takeil looked up from his datapad, smiling at Jenniiya as she walked through the door.

"Don't move!" Jenniiya reprimanded as she saw him trying to stand.

"The physician instructed that exercise will help the injury heal," he assured her, but stayed in his seat.

"Then," she told him, "as I have ordered some refreshments, you may join me for kaffin then walk to the Council Chamber with me. Your physician tells me that you are well enough for the Council to resume..."

Takeil smiled, bowing his head, acknowledging, "As you wish, Manwah."

Smiling, Jenniiya sank into the seat opposite him. "It gladdens my heart to see you in such good humour."

"I am honoured by your concern over my health," he told her, his voice sincere.

"Your Secor," Jenniiya warned him, "took great delight in telling the Council of your fight with the gahlen."

Takeil chuckled. "It was less a fight and more a contest of luck," he admitted. "The beast spooked my ride which dumped me, unceremoniously, on the ground. Either the gahlen or I were bound for the Spirit world. The fates, thankfully, decreed it would be the gahlen. I drew my bow and fired as it gathered speed to pounce. My flint found its heart before its teeth found my neck."

"An outcome I am glad of," Jenniiya smiled.

"An outcome I am glad of also!" he smiled. Then the smile faded as he turned his attention to more immediate matters, assuring her, "I brought the charge of Misjudgement so that others would not have the chance, Manwah."

"Your concern was for the safety of the Clans," she assured him. "There is no bad blood between us."

Takeil nodded, pausing for a moment before telling her, "Nabrood is a good man. They should not have taken him."

"Lord Vader has little honour," Jenniiya agreed.

Takeil searched her face. Then, softly, he began, "I agree with your belief that the Cartel can no longer remain neutral. I will lend you my support in the Chamber if you make the call for the Clans to decide where our future with the Empire lies... but I would also lend Nabrood my support."

Jenniiya looked at him, frowning. "Explain..."

"Nabrood's actions and his proclamation of disloyalty were coerced," Takeil explained, "He sought only to protect the clans, to fulfil his oath as Secor to the Diazez Manwah."

He paused then continued, "Yolan Nabrood should not be exiled for his assertion of treachery... Instead, we should seek him out, bring him home, honour him..."

"I will give you no disagreement," Jenniiya agreed.

Takeil gave her an appraising look. Then, softly, he suggested, "And when we bring him home, Manwah, you should take him as Consort..."

The only other Chieftain Jenniiya would have accepted such impudence from was Derwhen. She tolerated it from Takeil only because there had been an attachment between them... before his mother had died and he had been forced to choose between a blossoming romance with the Manwah's daughter or taking his place as the Ashaanai Chieftain.

"You overstep your authority, Ashaanai!" she rebuked, gently.

Takeil lowered his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I intend no disrespect," he assured her. "I make comment only because we are alone... and because I have seen the way he is with you." He lifted his eyes, looking at her, "Enough to give me reason to doubt earlier choices."

"Your heart makes connections where there are none," she countered, "He was my Secor..."

"And he will give you strong children!"

Jenniiya laughed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, "I can see you will not be dissuaded!" Growing serious again, she continued, "Let us agree to leave that as a matter to discuss when Nabrood is returned to us?"

Takeil nodded, "Agreed, Manwah. So we should turn our thoughts to plans of bringing him home. We have resources, but the Rebel Alliance will have greater ones. They also have a man missing…" He paused then suggested, "We should forge diazez with them..."

Jenniiya blinked, sitting back and looking at him. "They are not of Gehndaaria," she reminded him. "And they are political."

"Granted," he agreed, "but I have spoken with Barylo. He was reticent to reveal many details without your authority but he spoke, with pride, of the courage of the Alliance pilots. Their man, who was taken…" He paused, unable to remember the pilot's name.

"Antilles," Jenniiya supplied.

"Antilles," Takeil echoed, then asked, "Is it true that the other pilots offered to take his place?"

"It is," Jenniiya confirmed.

"And that, even in the cells, the other pilot attempted to give himself up as Antilles?"

"That is also true," Jenniiya confirmed again.

"Manwah, they protect each other as family would: as Nabrood did. And in the face of the lack of honour shown by the Empire Lord not just to you, but to his own people, we have to assume that the Empire will make and break agreements as it suits them… So," he went on, "being unable to do more than lie flat on my back for the past hours, I have re-examined the claims of the Empire."

"And concluded?" Jenniiya asked. Takeil had a sharp mind and she was interested to hear where his thoughts had taken him.

"Alderaan was no accident," he told her. "And the Jedi were exterminated because, without them, the worlds of the Republic had to turn to Palpatine to ensure continued peace..."

His words drew Jenniiya's memories back to a time before the destruction of Alderaan, when her father had still been alive, when he and Derwhen Kenwa had had a similar debate. Now she found herself echoing her father's words.

"Your Manwah," she pointed out, "has made agreements, only to break them as it suited. And the clans look to the Manwah for peace, just as the Empire looks to Palpatine…"

She saw anger flare in Takeil's eyes. He sat forward, countering, "The Diazez clan chieftains do not torture injured innocents! And as you reminded us only yesterday, within the walls of the Council even the Manwah is not above reproach!"

Having made his point, he looked at her for a moment. Then his eyes went wide and he took a sharp intake of breath, blushing crimson as he remembered to whom he was talking. He bowed his head in respect, apologising, "Manwah, forgive me…"

Smiling, but taking no delight in his discomfort, she leant forward, placing a reassuring hand on his knee. "I forgive you nothing," she told him. "There is no need. Your passion was in defence of your Manwah and your argument well placed. And," she went on, "when others, who have not thought through this as thoroughly as you, make the same comparison there will be no fire in your response, only calm."

The door chimed and she drew her hand away, ordering, "Come!"

Serving droids appeared with trays of kaffin, cha, sweet and savoury bakes. Jenniiya waited until the droids turned to leave then ordered, "My compliments to Derwhen of the Kenwah and my Secretar. Bid them both join me. And we will require more crockery."

"At once, Manwah," the droids confirmed before turning and trundling towards the door.

Jenniiya said nothing more until the door closed behind them. Then, picking up the jug of kaffin and pouring two cups, she told him, "Scant months before my father passed across the veil, he had similar argument about the Empire with Derwhen Kenwah. They did not have our experience of the Empire to draw upon and the matter was taken no further. Now, however, it will."

Handing a cup to Takeil, she went on, "We shall delay the Council a few more hours, citing your continued discomfort from your injuries. When Derwhen and Lyn arrive we discuss further the Empire, and your suggestion of forging diazez with the Rebel Alliance."


	25. Chapter 25

Part 25

Alec Pradeux stood, gazing out across the buildings of the Palace sector. Bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, he waited patiently for the Emperor to conclude his audience with Vader.

Palpatine had tightened his leash on the Sith Lord on his return from Gehndaaria. Ritaaz Oston was still bleating about Vader's heavy-handedness and blatant disregard for his authority as planetary Governor.

Pradeux had little sympathy for Oston. The man was not there to make friends: his duty was to enforce the authority of the Emperor. Gehndaaria would not be the first planet to suffer the full force of the Emperor's displeasure at their continued whining and complaining. If Oston was not up to the job, he would be replaced or the planet would simply be put under military governance. Just as Vader's leash had been tightened, so would that of the ingrates and malcontents who were unable to see the full picture and understand the potential of what the Empire could bring to them...

It continued to surprise him that there were still those who abandoned the safety and security the Empire offered them and looked, instead, to Mothma and her Rebel terrorists: whose dissatisfaction was fanned by the fetid remnants of the antediluvian Jedi.

His mouth pulled into a tight line of distaste.

Those damned magicians used smoke and mirrors to hide themselves. Nothing would be heard of them for years then one would suddenly appear. Like Kenobi...

Vader had dispatched the one-time General, but not before the old man had thrown another familiar name into the fray: _Skywalker_. Perhaps not instantly recognisable to the majority of the Empire, the name had certainly meant something to those who had known Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker.

The man had died during the destruction of the Jedi temple, cut down by Vader, but a son had survived. Kenobi had hidden the brat, who had come of age just in time for Mothma and her Rebel fanatics to wheel him out and have him take credit for the destruction of the Death Star.

Even Pradeux had found it hard to deny the boy's heritage. The resemblance to Anakin Skywalker was striking.

Vader had obviously become obsessed with Skywalker's son: hence his disregard for Palpatine's orders on Gehndaaria. The Emperor had reeled the Sith Lord in, confined him to quarters: isolated him. In the previous few days his only contact had been with Palpatine.

The doors to the Emperor's private offices opened. Pradeux turned, watching, but not acknowledging, Vader as the Sith Lord strode from the room. Two Imperial guards moved in from where they waited, flanking him as he walked across the waiting area and out into the corridor.

Palpatine's doors remained open and Pradeux moved through them, waiting just inside the office.

The Emperor was settling himself into his throne, pushing back the cowl to reveal his disfigured face: a constant reminder of the Jedi treachery. He saw Pradeux and beckoned to him, greeting, "Alec, my friend, come in. Come in."

Pradeux smiled, walking towards him. "Lord Vader continues to try your patience?" he asked.

Palpatine gave a short, barked, laugh, deriding, "Lord Vader is an instrument, a blunt instrument. He works best when obeying orders. When given time to think for himself, his lack of acumen becomes all too apparent!"

It was an evasion of the truth: but Palpatine excelled at twisting the truth. The Emperor knew that the reality was that Vader's encounter with Kenobi had left him unsettled and preoccupied with memories of Padme Amidala.

Vader was powerful: he had been pivotal to Palpatine's plans to out-manoeuvre the Jedi... but despite his education, he was slow to recognise the subtle nuances of politics. He had been easily groomed, readily falling prey to his jealousies and insecurities, turning further and more quickly into the embrace of the Dark Side than Palpatine had anticipated.

Kenobi's final betrayal on Mustafar had been a most surprising, and welcome, catalyst. His own lie about Amidala's death had simply severed already tenuous threads, ensuring the death of Anakin Skywalker and reinforcing the persona of Darth Vader.

And that was all that was required now: a reinforcing of the details that had grown vague in Vader's memory in the years since Mustafar.

Palpatine knew that Vader had been unsettled since his encounter with Obi Wan Kenobi on the Death Star. He had questioned Vader closely about the events leading up to the space station's demise. Vader had confirmed that he had been aware of Kenobi's presence, had tracked him down and dispatched him. He had assured Palpatine that he had sensed no other presence through the Force. If Skywalker was Force sensitive, Vader had seen no sign of it.

No new "Jedi" would rear up to rally the Rebel nuisance.

Isolation, meditation and careful manipulation would see that Vader was brought back to heel. Palptine accepted that it was something he should have done sooner, but he was not unduly concerned. Memories of Kenobi, of Amidala, and of Vader's life before the fall of the Jedi would soon be consigned to memories of betrayal, infidelity and treachery.

Smiling at Pradeux, Palpatine finished, "Lord Vader has been reminded of his place. You have news of Organa?" he asked, deftly dismissing the issue of the Sith Lord.

"He is responding as anticipated," Pradeux supplied. "Major Castell is most positive."

Palpatine looked at him, "Then what troubles you?"

Pradeux considered his words carefully. "Oston, on Gehndaaria," he began. "We may have to replace him. The man has concerns that Vader's disregard for his authority, so soon after taking up the post as Governor, will make him appear weak in the eyes of the Diazez Cartel. He requests, yet again, that he be supplied with the location of the traitor Yolan Nabrood."

Palpatine considered Pradeux's words.

The Cartel had proven their loyalty by handing over the Rebels. Granted, they had been embarrassed by Nabrood's treachery but they had also given him over to Vader without question. Their demand to deal with the traitor in their own way, once Vader had finished with him, was not unreasonable.

The Cartel also had a far-reaching influence: one that could be used to the benefit of the Empire. And it was much easier to corral a willing animal than to drag it in with brute force. Granted, the Diazez families had been unwise in their selection of their security advisor, but their oversight, Palptine concluded, should be pitied for the moment, not punished.

That Oston had obviously already built some rapport with the Diazez families was also an asset. To remove him now may complicate an already delicate situation.

Besides, the prospect of allowing Oston to know the whereabouts of Yolan Nabrood, when that very same fact was being withheld from Vader, amused him greatly.

"No, my friend," he ordered. "Leave Oston as he is for the moment. Provide him with the location of the Diazez traitor. See what he does with it and report back to me."

oo0oo

Wedge Antilles started awake and lay, gasping for breath, as the nightmare images of the dream dissolved slowly in the stark, white light. He closed his eyes, wiping his hand across his face, frowning slightly as the ghost of agony flashed up his spine and across his chest.

Dropping his arm onto the floor above his head, he opened his eyes, squinting into the light from the ceiling as his breathing slowed. Then, slowly, he sat up.

There was another man there, asleep against the other wall: a big man, with scars on his face and chest.

Wedge frowned. Instinct told him that he knew the man, but he couldn't remember why. Turning, settling his back against the wall, drawing his knees up to rest his feet flat on the floor, Wedge watched the man sleep for a few moments.

_I am sorry, my friend… You were the target of the bounty hunters_.

The memory surfaced, briefly, then retreated.

Panic flared in the pit of his belly. Were they in the hands of bounty hunters? The thought terrified him but he had no idea why.

He closed his eyes, trying to bring the memory back…

_You were the target of the bounty hunters_.

He had been lying on the floor. Nabrood had been crouching at his side.

_Nabrood_…

Was this man Nabrood?

Another memory washed in. He had been lying on the floor, another floor. A blond woman had been kneeling at his side. _Ali… I can't feel my legs_…

Afterimages of agony flowed down his spine.

_Your friends are lost to you. Downhigher has gone. Skywalker is dead… Aksha is dead…_

Wedge tried to breathe against the grief that clawed up into his throat: not understanding it, unable to remember who Downhigher, Skywalker or Aksha were. He closed his eyes, dropping his head into his hands as a sob tore up from his chest.

_I am sorry, my friend, there was no other way…_

_You are a traitor! No one knows you're here… You're all alone and the closest thing you have to a friend is me_… _Let me help you…_

_Leave him alone! He's injured, damn you!_

_Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles... I have very much been looking forward to this_...

_Get Clear, Wedge..._

_I chose to surrender and stand accountable for the crimes I have committed against the Galactic Empire..._

Images and memories rushed at him, reeling through his head: faces and places; terror-filled darkness. Panic flared, compounding the grief, leaving him unable to get breath into his lungs.

Strong hands grasped his shoulders. He flinched, trying to fight them off, but they wrapped around his wrists instead.

"Brother!" Nabrood tried again, concerned by the pilot's escalating panic. Wedge continued to fight him and he knew that he would be unable to hold Wedge down without risking doing more damage to his own, already injured ribs.

Inspiration struck. "Forgive me, brother," he told Wedge softly. Then he let go of the pilot's wrists, slapping him hard across the face, barking, "Look at me!"

Wedge gasped, dragging in a large lungful of air.

"Look at me!" Nabrood ordered again.

The pilot's eyes focussed slowly. Nabrood watched him, dropping a reassuring hand onto his shoulder as he asked, "Brother? Do you see me?"

Breath still coming in sobbed gasps, but the panic fading, Wedge looked back at him, nodding slowly, "Yes..."

Smiling, Nabrood squeezed his shoulder again then moved to sit beside him, easing back against the wall, wincing as his ribs protested the movement.

The discomfort had made sleeping difficult, but he had been able to get a few hours. Enough, at least, to keep his mind alert. He had been resting with his eyes closed, running through what he remembered of the facility, when Wedge had woken.

He drew his knees up, resting his forearms on them, hands clasped. "Better?" he asked.

Wedge rubbed his hands across his face, taking a deep, calming breath: coherent, rational thought slowly pushing aside the fog of panic. "Nabrood?"

"Yes, my friend?" the man returned.

Wedge closed his eyes, letting his head sink back against the wall. He wasn't alone. He knew this man.

"I don't remember…"

Nabrood turned his head, looking at the pilot, "What escapes you, brother?"

Wedge swallowed, opening his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. "Everything… I… I know you're Nabrood… and there was a woman… and a sky walker…"

He dropped his gaze, turning to look at Nabrood, "What's a sky walker?"

Nabrood sighed softly, realising now why the pilot had been in such turmoil after he had woken. "Luke Skywalker is a man," he told the pilot, keeping his tone calm and measured. "He is your friend," he explained. "You knew where he was. The Empire drugged and tortured you to find him."

_Get Clear, Wedge..._

The image of a blond man in an orange flight suit floated up from the depths of his memory… but the face was blurred…

"And Aksha?" he asked, the grief welling up again. He pushed it down, taking a deep, slow breath against the constriction in his chest.

"Lieutenant Haniff-Brin Aksha," Nabrood supplied, "was with you. He was also tortured by the Empire…"

Wedge took that in, finally understanding the grief. "He's dead."

It was a statement, not a question and Nabrood looked away. He had no stomach for lying to Antilles, not after everything the pilot had suffered… but telling the truth now, without knowing who might be listening, would be folly. Lifting his head, looking back at Wedge, he told him simply, "I am sorry, brother."

"Am I?" Wedge asked.

Nabrood frowned, confused.

"Am I your brother?" Wedge asked.

"We are not related by blood," Nabrood told him, "but I am honoured to call you brother."

"So we're both traitors?"

Nabrood shook his head, "We serve neither the Empire nor its Emperor. Nor do your friends, Luke and Brin…"

_You are a traitor… A member of the Rebel Alliance…_

The door hissed open and a stormtrooper moved into the cell, levelling his blaster at the two of them. "On your feet!"

oo0oo

The X-wing technician scrambled up the side of the fighter and treated Luke to a tired, if tentatively jubilant, smile. "I think we may just have solved it," he told Luke before ordering, "Fire up the guns, Commander! And cross everything you've got!"

"Okay, Artoo," Luke called, "you heard him! Bring the weapons systems back online."

The little droid whistled and did as Skywalker asked.

The technician peered into the depths if the cockpit, squinting at the indications on the control panels as the systems powered up. Luke ran through the checklist then hit the final switch. The smile on the technician's face widened into a grin as he heard the soft whine of the cannons powering up. Not daring to breathe, he watched the indications settle into the green.

A smile tugged at Luke's mouth as he confirmed, "Weapons systems… online!"

"You dancer!" he breathed softly, gently patting the side of the fighter.

There was a whoop of delight from below and the two techs standing at the foot of the ladder grabbed each other and did a little jig of victory.

"What was the problem?" Luke asked.

"Some bugger had spliced into the flux array," the technician told him, "tweaked the parameters and bypassed the destabilisation warning. Because of the bypass loop there was no way to remotely detect the splice. Luckily, because the array could never stabilise, the automatic shutdown was engaging. If they'd tampered with that, the blow-back would have left a nice, T-65-sized crater in the ground."

Luke turned his head, looking at him, all trace of humour gone as he realised the implications of what could have happened. Hobbie could have been killed. All five of the X-wings could have been destroyed. "They were trying to destroy the fighers?" he asked. "Not just disable them?"

"I doubt it was a deliberate attempt to blow the birds, Sir," the technician assured him, "more like someone who didn't really know what they were doing. Damned fools came close to killing themselves up, pulling a stunt like that. Well, Sir," he went on, "if you'll excuse me, we've got work to do. We need to find out what other little surprises our bungling inepts might have left us."

He disappeared, sliding down the ladder to the ground. Artoo burbled softly and Luke glanced down at the data translation on the screen. Smiling, he turned to look at the little droid, assuring him, "Yes, the fighters are safe, Artoo. The engineers will go over them section by section before they let us fly them."

"Master Luke?"

Luke stood up, looking down over the side, "What is it, Threepio?"

"Her Royal Highness asked me to remind you that you have an appointment with Specialist Nejes."

Specialist Gemaria Nejes was the psychologist assigned to make sure that he and the other pilots were coping with the "_inevitable after-effects of a physically and emotionally traumatic event_."

Specialist Nejes was also curvaceous, with dark eyes and a full mouth that broke easily into a dimpled smile. She was just the sort of woman to have pulled a soft, low whistle of appreciation from Wedge Antilles: right before he tugged his uniform straight, threw a "See you later!" to whoever was with him, and went after her.

_Hey, baby! Where have you been all my life?_

Guilt and anger reared up: as it did every time Luke thought about Wedge, drowning the small voice of logic in his mind that tried to remind him that there was nothing else they could have done; that hundreds of innocents would have died if they'd tried to rescue Wedge from Vader…

_A young Jedi named Darth Vader betrayed and murdered your father_…

Vader hadn't only murdered his father, he had murdered Ben Kenobi too: the man who had offered him a tantalising glimpse of who his father had been, of the power of the Force…

_You must learn the ways of the Force_…

Shame flooded in, tightening in Luke's chest. His father had fought bravely and courageously in the Clone Wars... Ben had selflessly faced Vader to buy them the time to escape the Death Star… And here he was: hidden in a Rebel base, unable to deny that part of him was relieved that he had not been the one in the cell with Vader on Gehndaaria.

He wasn't fit to be a Rebel officer, let alone a Jedi knight. He closed his eyes, curling his hands into fists.

_Wedge... I'm sorry..._

"Master Luke?"

Opening his eyes, Luke glanced down at the protocol droid then swung his legs over the side of the fighter. "I'm coming, Threepio," he told the droid. "Let the doc know I'm on my way."

oo0oo

Oston stepped out of the landcruiser. He paused briefly, to tug his uniform jacket gently into place, before climbing the steps to the brightly-lit foyer of the Diazez manor. Commander Jarod Lekk appeared from the other side of the cruiser, walking around it to follow Oston up the steps.

Lyn Areese bowed graciously, announcing, "Governor, the Manwah is most gratified that you are able to grace her with your presence at this late hour. She awaits you in her private suite with two of her most trusted advisors..."

"Which advisors?" Oston asked, following the Secretar as she turned towards the grand staircase.

"Chieftain Derwhen Kenwa and Chieftain Takeil Ashaanai," Lyn supplied.

Oston had met Derwhen, a gruff, straight-talking old man, who, if Oston's sources were correct, had been a close friend of the Manwah's father. He hadn't met Ashaanai, but considering the course of events, Oston had made it his business to find out about all the other Chieftains, so he was familiar with man. And tales of the Ashaanai Chieftain's prowess in a fight against a gahlen, whatever that was, were already circulating in the city.

Oston said nothing more, following Lyn as she led him up the stairs and through the corridors of the manor. As they moved from the public areas to the more private, the ornate, grandeur and clan-based antiquities on display changed, slowly, towards a more subtle, distinguished opulence. Oston drank it all in.

A man who routinely enjoyed the finer things in life, and who prided himself on his knowledge of arts, music and wine, he found himself drawn to the richness of the tapestries and the uniqueness of the artwork. Only the pressing nature of his meeting with the Manwah prevented him from slowing to peruse them more closely… until he saw the portrait displayed in an alcove.

He stopped. It was a small, unassuming painting of a young, dark-haired girl looking down at a flower.

The voice in Lyn's earpiece warned her that Oston was no longer following her. She stopped, moving back to him. "Governor?"

"Is…" he began, "Is that a Monetha?"

Lyn knew that it was, but she made a show of pulling out a com unit and asking security to check the inventory.

"It's one of the Manwah's favourite paintings," Lyn supplied while she 'waited' for the answer. "It's an ancestor… of her father's line… Yes, Governor," she told him, "It is a Monetha… Now, please? If you will? The Manwah is waiting…"

"Yes," Oston told her, dragging himself away, "Yes… of course…"

_Power, beauty __**and**__ taste_, he considered, following Lyn again. The more he learned about Jenniiya Elleba, the more intrigued he became with her.

The Secretar stopped, finally, pressing a door chime. There was a slight delay and then the door slid open. Lyn stepped back, ushering Oston and Lekk inside.

Jenniiya rose to her feet, walking across to them, a bright smile of pleasure on her face, "Governor, my thanks for joining us at this late hour…"

"The pleasure is entirely mine," he assured her, taking her proffered hand, lifting it to his mouth and kissing her fingers. She beamed at him, moving to his side, slipping her arm through his and escorting him across the room.

"Governor," she introduced, letting go if his arm, "you are already familiar with Derwhen Kenwa…"

"Indeed," Oston confirmed, bowing in acknowledgement of the older man. Derwhen inclined his head in response.

"Allow me to introduce Takeil of the Ashaanai, also a trusted friend."

Oston bowed to the younger man, somehow not surprised to find out that he was one of Jenniiya's closest advisors. Having the Ashaanai chieftain make the call of Misjudgement meant that Jenniiya had control over the situation while diffusing and addressing it. The Manwah was a skilled politician.

"I trust your injuries are healing well..." Oston offered.

"So news of your hunting encounter has reached even the Governor's ears!" Derwhen commented dryly, unable to resist teasing the Ashaanai Chieftain.

Takeil grinned. "Forgive me if I do not stand, Governor," he told Oston, "and I thank you, my injuries are healing."

"Governor," Jenniiya invited, indicating the seat beside Derwhen, "please, sit..."

The door opened again and serving droids moved in, bringing trays of kaffin, chai, juices, fruit and fresh-made bakes. Jenniiya waited until the droids had turned and were moving out of the door then took her seat. As the door closed, Jenniiya got straight to business as Lyn knelt beside the low table, pouring kaffin and offering it to Oston.

"Governor," Jenniiya began, glancing at Lekk who had moved to stand behind Oston, acknowledging him with a small nod, "my apologies for being unable to hold to our agreement of having Commander Lekk present in the Council Chamber... I trust you received the recordings by way of compensation?"

"Manwah," Oston assured her, "you made it clear at our last meeting that the Empire should not be seen to be involved in Council business. Had I known that proceedings within the Council Chambers were recorded, I would not have asked that the Commander be present."

"It is protection," Lyn told him, offering a plate of bakes. "There is no doubt about what was said. It has been so since the clans were forged together in Diazez."

"Council business should remain council business," Derwhen warned, "but the Manwah wished to honour your agreement and made a personal gift of the recordings."

"A gift that is much appreciated," Oston confirmed. "And," he went on, "can I congratulate you on how well you manoeuvred the Council."

Jenniiya smiled, "In what way, Governor?"

"Taking control of the situation by ensuring a trusted friend made the call for Misjudgement," Oston offered. "An astute move…"

Jenniiya kept the surprise from showing on her face, momentarily lost for words at his assumption. Her surprise increased when Takeil commented, "The Manwah requires many skills to keep the clans in order. Manipulation is one; thinking three steps ahead, is another. And when all else fails, the Manwah simply dazzles her quarry with her beauty. Tell me, Governor," he went on, leaning forward, "did the Manwah wear the green dress on your first meeting? Or the red?"

Derwhen chuckled softly. Jenniiya found her voice, accusing in mock sternness, "The death penalty is still handed down to those who would reveal Diazez secrets, Ashaanai!"

Oston laughed softly at the exchanged then admitted, "I regret, Chieftain Ashaanai, that I was too intent on making accusations of treachery to take notice… accusations which were swiftly laid aside when the Manwah proved the Diazez Clans to be faithful servants of the Emperor."

Jenniiya watched the smile stay firmly in place on Takeil's face. Only someone who knew him well would have seen the slight narrowing of his eyes. Jenniiya pushed down her own distaste. The Diazez Clans were the initiators of their own fate. They were servants of no one. Nor had they any desire to be allies of an Empire that tortured injured men and women.

"However," Oston was continuing, "I also realised the extent of the Manwah's political acumen at that point… Which brings me neatly to the most pressing of the matters between us…"

He smiled, sipping his kaffin before announcing, "I have ascertained the whereabouts of Yolan Nabrood. And with our combined political acumen, you may yet be able to hang him…"


	26. Chapter 26

Part 26

Palo Torshan heard, but didn't react to, the soft wail of the klaxon that warned of a detonation to dislodge more ice from beyond the veil of netting on the far side of the hangar. The klaxon stopped and the dull thud of the carefully controlled explosion was followed by a soft vibration which rippled through the ship.

General McQuarrie's engineers were working well ahead of schedule and would soon begin work on the second, far larger hangar for the base. All of which was good news for the overflowing decks of the _Home One_. It wouldn't be much longer before they could start moving X-wings, pilots and ground crews into Echo Base.

Torshan picked up the mug from the console, pulling a face as the mouthful of kaffin turned out to be cold. He swallowed it anyway, placing the mug back on the console before turning his attention back to the information he was searching through.

"You asked to see me?"

Torshan turned, coming to his feet and saluting as he saw Rieekan. "Yes, General."

Rieekan waved a dismissal at him, indicating that he should dispense with formalities. He peeled off his gloves, opening his jacket as he moved towards Torshan.

"I'm beginning to think that we made the wrong decision when we persuaded Mon Mothma that this place was viable," Rieekan grumbled as Torshan sank back into the chair. "At least the volcano was warm!" he finished. Shaking his head, sitting down, he asked, "So, what have you got for me, Major?"

"New information from the Diazez, Sir," Palo told him, "There's no corroboration as yet, but the information came from the Imperial Governor himself." He paused, and then went on, "Lieutenant Commander Antilles is in Penal Labour Facility Nine-Nine-One… Möerdaast…"

Rieekan had heard of it, but couldn't immediately place it. Nothing that involved the Empire, penal and labour, could be good, however and the expression on the Major's face confirmed his suspicions. "Remind me," he asked.

"It's a volcanic world," Torshan explained. "The facility mines xylphyr…"

Rieekan blinked then swore softly. Xylpher was used in just about every ship in the galaxy. It was part of the life-support system, used to filtrate and purify the air. It was also mined and gathered by hand because droids and machinery could not survive the corrosive, noxious gasses that were created by the same processes that made the xylphyr.

Unless you had the proper protection, mining xylpher was fatal: a long, slow, lingering death…

"What about the Diazez man?" he asked.

"Nabrood is in the same facility."

"Mon Mothma knows this?"

"Yes, Sir," Torshan confirmed. "Major Anders sent the information just after she briefed the Command Staff."

He picked up a data crystal, holding it out to Rieekan. "Mon Mothma has left any rescue operation to your discretion, Sir."

Rieekan took it, nodding slowly. It made sense that Mothma would defer the decision to him. He had at his disposal a man who knew more about the Diazez mindset than anyone else in the Alliance, Major Palo Torshan: the man who had profiled and put together the Ghendaaria mission; the man who had briefed Leia Organa before she had gone to liaise with the Diazez Cartel..

"Major Anders suggested we wait until we have more information, either from our sources or from the Diazez," Torshan told him, "then reassess the situation. I'm inclined to agree with her, Sir."

He paused, chewing on the inside of his lip for a moment before offering, "Möerdaast is pretty much impregnable. There's a possibility that we may not be able to get Antilles out. And if an operation is viable, the Cartel are going to want their man back too. Going in without coordinating with them could compromise both rescue attempts..."

"Could we combine an operation?"

"Doubtful," Torshan ventured. "The Cartel doesn't play well with others. Their prime aim is to keep the Diazez Clans safe... and a joint mission risks compromising them."

Rieekan took a slow, deep breath before letting it out in a deep sigh. He rubbed his hands across his face then shook his head. The whole situation stank and if Torshan wanted to wait then he was going to listen to the Major's advice. "I understand," he told Torshan. "And I will be guided by you on this."

He paused, thinking for a moment. Skywalker, Aksha and Callen were only just holding it together. Medical Specialist Nejes said that they were making good progress; that all the pilots were making progress: but it was still early days. Rieekan wasn't about to risk setting their recovery back by giving them unconfirmed information of Antilles' death sentence, especially when that information might send them AWOL, on a half-baked, badly constructed rescue attempt.

There was no need to burden them further, not until there was more detailed information.

"I don't see any need to share this information with Skywalker and his pilots," he told Torshan, finally, "Not yet. I suggest we wait until we have something more concrete to go on."

The Major nodded, "I agree, Sir." Then he asked, "Do you want me to keep you continually updated, Sir? Or would you rather I brief you when I have a better idea of the options open to us?"

"I don't need to know anything until you've got it straight in your own head, Major," Rieekan confirmed. "Oh, and one more thing…"

"Sir?"

"Solo… Leave him out of the loop. I admire the man's loyalty, but he's an accident waiting to happen and it sure as hells isn't going to happen on my watch!"

oo0oo

The heat and stench swept into the repulsor lift as the doors slid open. Fumes caught at the back of Wedge's throat, stinging his eyes. He coughed, trying to blink away tears as someone shoved a respirator mask and goggles at him.

He dragged them on. The goggles stopped his eyes stinging, but the mask did little to prevent the fumes clawing down his throat.

Another stormtrooper held out a pole with an empty net at each end. Wedge took it, settling it across his shoulders, the nets hanging down at his sides.

"Move out!"

Wedge started forward, dropping into step behind Nabrood as they followed six, other men down the steep incline.

An opaque, wispy substance obscured the roof, turning and twisting its way up the tunnel towards the repulsor lift. The artificial lighting petered out, leaving them walking in the pale, blue glow of a luminescent substance that caked the floor of the tunnel, crunching under their feet.

Wedge hadn't recognised it but Nabrood had told him what it was. Xylphyr.

"On Gehndaaria it is found deep beneath the sea," he had explained, "where the crust of the planet thins and the boiling core breaks through. Sometimes, plumes of molten core will spout into the sky, causing the sea to rise in great waves that hit the shore, dumping small pebbles of xylphyr on the sand or between the rocks."

The description had dredged an image into Wedge's memory: of people in orange suits running towards large, white birds as lava poured down the slopes of the volcano that towered above them.

They hadn't been running from the lava, Wedge remembered. That had been flowing down the mountain for days. He recalled it clearly, now: remembered standing in the evenings, mesmerised by the changing patterns in the molten rock as it coursed down the side of the mountain.

Without warning, the ground beneath him shuddered, almost knocking him off his feet. Confused, he staggered but stayed upright, unable to work out if the tremor was actually happening, or all in his mind. Two men ahead of him stumbled and lost their footing. The tremor intensified, shaking rocks free of the roof, sending them crashing down onto the tunnel floor.

Nabrood hissed a curse as a rock glanced off his shoulder. He covered his head, dropping into a crouch and pressing himself as close to the wall as he could get. He glanced back at Wedge, swearing again as he saw the Rebel standing, apparently oblivious to what was happening.

Reaching up, Nabrood grabbed him, dragging him down beside him. A blast of scalding heat surged past them, stinging unprotected skin.

The rock fall slowly subsided. The tremor lessened but rumbled on.

Nabrood turned, looking at Antilles. "Brother? Are you hurt?"

Wedge lay against the wall, lost in the depths of another memory. _The ground moved beneath his feet... He stumbled, almost falling... The figure ahead of him staggered and fell. He stopped, holding out his hand, "You okay, Hobbie?"_

_Hobbie..._

_Hobbie was a pilot. He had been at Seinar... He was upstairs with Luke..._

A kick in the ribs knocked Wedge back into the present. He flinched, grunting in pain, looking up into the light of a torch attached to the muzzle of a blaster rifle.

"On your feet!"

Already standing, Nabrood turned, risking the stormtrooper's displeasure by holding out a hand to the Rebel pilot. "Come, brother."

Wedge squinted up at Nabrood. Then he reached up, taking the proffered hand. The Gehndaarian pulled him easily to his feet and the stormtrooper moved away down the line.

"Thanks," Wedge offered, settling the pole back across his shoulders.

"You are welcome, brother…"

"Control, we've had a tremor and rock fall in tunnel Beta-Three-Four. We have one prisoner down," he heard a stormtrooper report. "Number One One Five Four Eight…"

Wedge turned, realising that the stormtrooper was shining the torch onto a Sullustan who lay, unmoving, on the ground. His goggles were smashed and his face was covered in blood. The stormtrooper nudged the Sullustan with his boot, but he didn't move.

"Negative, Control, he's unresponsive. The rest are mobile. We're still…" He trailed off, turning to look further down the tunnel as the other stormtrooper drew his attention. "Standby, Control."

A flickering, blue-green glow was moving slowly up the tunnel towards them. The stormtroopers turned, almost as one. "Control, the xylpher's on fire in tunnel Beta-Three-Four. We're evacuating."

They moved, herding the prisoners back up the tunnel towards the repulsor lift.

Nabrood moved as fast as he could, pushing Antilles ahead of him. He was used to heat. The temperature in the tunnels was marginally cooler than a Ghendaarian summer, but his respirator had already been struggling to filter the poisonous, volcanic fumes that filled the tunnel. Under the added pressure of his effort to escape the burning xylpher, it was failing him. He was light-headed, his lungs and throat burning before they were even half-way to the repulsor lift.

He lost his footing on the uneven surface, stumbling onto his knees, almost taking Antilles down with him.

Wedge staggered sideways. Unable to think clearly, lack of oxygen clouding his mind, it took him a moment to realise that Nabrood had fallen… and that the stormtroopers were already moving past them.

Terror stabbed through him. Cursing, panic lending him strength, he turned, discarding the nets and pole on the floor, dragging Nabrood up. "Move!" he rasped, "They're leaving us to burn!"

Antilles' words cut through the murk that fogged Nabrood's thoughts. If he didn't move, they were both going to die. The thought lent power to leaden muscles. He made it to his feet.

Wedge pulled Nabrood's arm over his shoulder, steadying him as they lurched and stumbled their way towards the repulsor lift. He sucked in breaths through the respirator, but there was too little oxygen. His lungs felt like they were going to implode, restricted by an iron band around his chest that slowly tightened.

The stormtroopers had reached the repulsor lift. Any moment now the doors were going to open and they were going to be left behind.

Damn it, he was not going to die like this: herded like an animal in some foetid, Imperial hell hole! He was destined to die in an X-wing, in a blaze of glory! Or in bed with a beautiful woman!

The repulsor lift doors remained closed.

Gods… They might just make it! They were almost there… Almost there…

The doors cracked open and the stormtroopers shoved their way inside.

Screaming in frustration, Wedge summoned the last of his strength, dragging Nabrood forward, pushing him ahead. The Ghendaarian lurched a few steps, then his legs gave way and he crashed to the ground, his head and shoulders lying inside the lift.

The effort of shoving Nabrood ahead of him took Wedge to the ground but he scrambled forward, all but launching himself into the lift. He turned as he landed on the cool metal, grasping Nabrood's arms to drag him inside.

The doors began to close.

Wedge had no more strength. He lost his grip.

Realising that it was going to be easier to pull the prisoner inside than trying to push him out of the lift, the stormtroopers bent down, grabbing Nabrood's arms and hauling him inside.

The doors brushed against the Gehndaarian's feet as they closed, then sealed shut.

Relief and exhaustion sweeping through him, Wedge collapsed back against the floor of the repulsor lift as it began moving upwards. He pulled his respirator off, dragging in breaths of the cool, clean air, coughing them back up. There was only one other man in the lift with the stormtroopers. They had left everyone else behind.

Too drained to move, still unable to breathe without coughing, Wedge lay on the floor.

An image flashed through his mind, a memory, of being trapped in the dark, unable to move.

_The Empire drugged and tortured you..._

_Let me help you, Lieutenant Commander..._

Castell. A woman called Castell had asked that. She had given him something to eat. She had let him shower...

She had tortured him...

_I chose to surrender to Imperial authorities, and stand accountable for the crimes I have committed against the Galactic Empire and Imperial forces._

No... No, he hadn't surrendered. There had been bounty hunters. The bounty hunters had taken him. He'd been a target because he was a Lieutenant Commander in the Rebel Alliance: an X-wing pilot.

_You were injured during the Seinar attack. Your X-wing was badly damaged. You barely escaped into hyperspace_...

Seinar attack...

The shipyards! They had attacked the shipyards.

There had been more defences than they had expected. His X-wing had been damaged. His shields had failed… but Hobbie, Hobbie had been the one in real trouble. He and Brin had pulled Hobbie out of his crashed fighter. They'd had to cut through Hobbie's cybernetic leg to get him out...

He'd been badly injured... too badly injured for them to help him. They'd had to risk taking him into a settlement...

He remembered that, remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday...

The lift stopped moving and the doors opened. Wedge dragged his eyes open. Strong hands grasped his arms, hauling him up. He had no strength to fight the stormtroopers as they carried him out of the lift and into the corridor.

oo0oo

See-Threepio tilted his head, watching as a small, white droid trundled up into the ship that had brought them to Echo Base.

Well, that wasn't right. That wasn't right at all!

"Artoo!" Threepie called, heading after the little droid. "Artoo, you're supposed to be with the X-wing crews!"

The droid either didn't hear him, or ignored him, disappearing into the ship. "Artoo Deetoo, come back here! Artoo! Don't you ignore me you malfunctioning bucket of bolts!"

Artoo stopped at the top of the ramp, just out of sight of the protocol droid. He burbled softly, looking along the corridor before swivelling his dome to look back down the ramp.

Luke had tasked him to find out what information Major Torshan had on Wedge Antilles.

"Han said that Torshan was working on something," Luke had explained, "so the Major must know what's happened to Wedge. They're not telling us anything, not even Leia, so I need you to find out, Artoo."

Artoo hadn't been convinced that that was such a good idea. Knowing Luke Skywalker as he did, the little droid recognised there was a high probability of Luke and the other pilots letting their emotion override applied analysis. If they found out where Wedge Antilles was, they would fly off to rescue him, without a viable plan... and that would be bad.

Luke had seemed so sad, however, that Artoo had decided to do as he asked, knowing that he could determine what to tell Luke once he found out what information Major Torshan had.

Now, however, there was going to be no opportunity to quietly retrieve that information: not with Threepio following him, making a fuss.

"Artoo Deetoo! Come down here at once!"

Artoo mewled softly, starting to move back down the ramp. Then he stopped as he heard the Princess Leia's voice. "Threepio? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, Your Highness," Threepio began, "I think the cold must be affecting Artoo's circuits! He's supposed to be over with the X-wing techs, but I've just seen him going onto the ship!"

"Are you sure it was Artoo?" Leia's asked.

"Absolutely positive," Threepio confirmed. "I would know that little droid anywhere!"

Leia laid a gentle hand on the protocol droid's arm, "Well, I'm heading that way so I'll look for him and send him back to the X-wing techs."

"Oh, thank you, Your Highness," Threepio told her. "He does have such a knack of getting himself into trouble."

"I'll make sure Artoo is kept out of trouble," Leia assured him before going on "General McQuarrie needs you. He's over by the west wall…"

Threepio looked across the hangar. "I had better not keep the General waiting," he replied. "Thank you, Your Highness!"

Leia smiled, watching the droid for a moment as he moved away. Then she turned and walked up the ramp into the ship. She stopped, shaking her head as she saw Artoo. Pulling off her gloves, continuing to the top of the ramp, she chided gently, "Artoo Detoo, are you in here hiding from Threepio?"

Artoo twisted his dome to and fro then vibrated softly. Leia's grin widened. "Oh, I see. You came in here for some heat? Well," she went on, dropping into a crouch and running her hand across his dome, "I can't say that I blame you."

She looked around then lent further towards him, telling him softly, "Just between you and me, even General Rieekan is beginning to regret the choice of an ice base, no matter how well positioned it is, tactically."

The little droid burbled a sound that Leia swore was, "He is?"

"Yes," she told him, smiling, "he is... just between you and me. Now," she went on, rising to her feet, "I have a meeting to attend."

She patted his dome, rising to her feet before walking away down the corridor, "Stay out of trouble, Artoo."

Artoo mewled ascent then stood for a moment, looking from the Princess, to the ramp that would take him down into the hangar, then back to the Princess. She turned a corner, disappearing from view.

A meeting? General Rieekan was still in the Command centre, overseeing the final adjustments before it officially came on-line. The Princess herself had just informed Threepio that General McQuarrie was over on the west wall. That left only two other reasons for the Princess to be on this ship for a meeting. One was a holo-conference with Alliance Command. The other was the same reason Artoo was here: Major Palo Torshan.

Was it possible that Leia was working with Major Torshan on the 'something' Luke had spoken about?

Had he been human, Artoo would have smiled. Turning, whistling nonchalantly, Artoo trundled down the corridor, following the Princess.

oo0oo

"The Council recognises Chieftain Bheilik of the Daershen."

The dark-haired woman rose to her feet, looking along the Council table at Jenniiya. "Manwah, there are many facets to this situation… The most important to the Daershen is the fate of their brother, Yolan Nabrood."

She paused, looking around the table at the other Chieftains. "Yolan surrendered himself and freely disclosed treachery to the Manwah. Diazez dictates that he be Exiled… however…"

She looked back at Jenniiya. "The Daershen entreat the Manwah to show leniency…"

Another Chieftain rose to her feet, interrupting. "The Reogin back the Daershen entreaty!"

A murmur swept around the Council table: of surprise and approval. Bheilik turned, looking at Jilbh, her face showing her own surprise and her gratitude. She had expected to have to plead her mother's cousin's case. To have the Reogin Chieftain support her petition before she'd even begun to present her case, was most welcome… if unexpected.

It implied that Jilbh had more insight on the situation than she did herself: something that was entirely possible since Jilbh was kin to Derwhen Kenwa, one of the Council's most respected Chieftains and a man whom the Manwah turned to for words of wisdom. She would tackle Jilbh about that later. For now, however, she bowed her head in acknowledgement, sitting down.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Jenniiya rose to her feet, announcing, "The Daershen entreaty is heard! Yolan Nabrood's surrender was not a betrayal, but a sacrifice to protect the Diazez. That sacrifice will be marked with respect. No call for Exile will be heard. Yolan Nabrood remains a brother and a trusted friend! His name will be spoken with pride in the Halls of the Honoured."

Another murmur of approval swept around the Council table as Jenniiya sank back into her seat.

Takeil lifted his crutch into the air. "There is another matter that must be raised!"

"The Council recognises Chieftain Takeil of the Ashaanai," Derwhen announced.

Takeil struggled to his feet. Leaning heavily on his crutches, he began, "Once before the Manwah laid a resolution before this Council regarding an appeal from Chieftain Mothma of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. At that time, the Council made determination that the outside politics of the galaxy were not a matter for Cartel concern."

He looked around the table. "The situation has changed. The Clans of the Cartel have been forced into the path of those politics."

"Does Takeil of the Ashaanai propose a resolution?" another Chieftain asked.

"The Cartel can no longer remain neutral," Takeil replied. "We must choose: Palpatine or Mothma."

Jenniiya watched Chieftains exchange looks but, otherwise, Takeil's statement was met with thoughtful silence. The Ashaanai Chieftain eased himself back into his chair.

Bheilik Daershen agreed with Takeil Ashaanai. The clans could no longer remain neutral and, with Nabrood having been taken from Ghendaaria, she was inclined to vote on the side of the Rebels. This was not a decision that could be made by the heart, however. There was too much at stake. She pushed herself to her feet, looking across the table. "The Daershen look to the Manwah for guidance."

Jenniiya nodded, answering, "The Manwah will give insight."

All eyes turned to Jenniiya as she stood up."The Rebels showed courage and honour," she began. "Their instinct was to shield those who were injured. Even in the face of interrogation, they offered themselves in the place of Lieutenant Commander Antilles. He, however, stood strong, protecting his people, sacrificing himself for them."

A soft murmur swept across the room. Jenniiya paused, to give them time to think about what she'd just said. Then she continued, "The Empire regard the Cartel as servants, not equals."

Her words caused caused uproar. The Gehmaris Chieftain surged to his feet, his chair falling backwards. "The Diazez clans are servants to no-one!" he objected vehemently.

Jenniiya looked at Derwhen, who banged his hand on the table, calling for order. Slowly, the noise subsided.

"We must tread carefully," Derwhen warned the Chieftains. "The Empire is powerful. Our ships have already been prevented from arriving and departing from Gehndaaria, disrupting our trade. They have many troops, more than enough to overrun Gehndaaria."

"The Empire made agreement with the Manwah," Takeil reminded the assembled Chieftains, "only to break it when it suited their needs!"

"Your Manwah," Jenniiya pointed out, mirroring her previous words to him, "has made agreements and broken them as it suited."

"For the good of the Cartel!" the Gehmaris Chieftain shot back.

There was a roar of concurrence from around the table.

Bheilik Daershen rose to her feet. "The Emperor will do what he must for the good of the Empire, just as Mothma will do what she must for her people. The Alliance may have shown more honour than the Empire, but perhaps our decision should be to stand alone. To ally with either side will draw more sacrifice from Cartel sons and daughters."

Jenniiya nodded, unable to discount the Chieftain's words. "The Daershen speak true."

She paused, looking around the table, "But our belief is that, no matter what our decision, the Cartel Clans can no longer protect their sons and daughters from the Imperial ambition."

Derwhen stood up. "There are those," he began, "out-with the Diazez, who believe that Alderaan's destruction was ordered by the Emperor, that a great victory over the Alliance would have been publicised if the apparatus of Alderaan's obliteration had, itself, not been destroyed by the Alliance at Yavin... Facts were spun into a fiction which suited the Emperor's purpose. Just as the so-called Jedi sedition two decades before was, in fact, an extermination... Without the Jedi's calming presence the worlds of the Republic were forced to turn to Palpatine's new Empire to ensure peace..."

"The Cartel Chieftains look to the Manwah for peace," Jenniiya argued, "as the Empire looks to Palpatine."

"The Clans torture neither injured innocents nor wounded adversaries in the name of the Cartel!" Takeil countered, calmly.

"Agreed, but this is not a matter of what is wrong and what is right," Jenniiya warned. She looked around the table. "This decision must be made on what is best for the Diazez Cartel. If agreement is made with the Empire, that agreement will be rewritten as it suites the Emperor. If agreement is made with the Alliance, we may bring about everything the Cartel sought to prevent when the Clans forged Diazez."

She paused for a moment then went on, "If we make agreement with neither, the Empire will still make demands of us: demands we will have no choice but to fulfil in order to ensure the safety of the Cartel."

"There is a fourth choice," Takeil offered.

All eyes turned on him. He looked around the Chieftains. "Agreements may be broken. Diazez is law..."

Jenniiya had expected his words to cause cries of refusal and repudiation. Instead, there was silence as everyone considered his words.

"Neither the Empire nor the Alliance are of Gehndaaria," Derwhen commented, finally. "Nor are they clans!"

"Diazez was forged between the Clans to secure a continued future for their sons and daughters," Takeil countered, calmly. "Diazez law makes no mention of Diazez being restricted to those of Gehndaarian birth."

"It appears our Ashaanai brother has given much thought to this," the Gehmaris Chieftain charged. There was no reproach in his tone, however.

Takeil nodded, admitting, "I have given much thought to many things. A call of Misjudgement should only be made after great thought."

"Well said!" Bheilik Daershen, concurred.

"And after all this thought," another Chieftain asked, "do the Ashaanai propose forging Diazez with the Empire or with the Alliance?"

"The Ashaanai propose that the Cartel walks both lines..." Takeil replied. "We forge Diazez with Mothma of the Alliance and also make agreement with the Empire..."

"That is a dangerous path to walk," Jilbh warned.

"There must be time for thought!" Jenniiya announced. "And time for discussion. This will be the most important decision the Council has made since Diazez was first forged. It cannot be taken lightly. The Secretar will provide any information required for discussion. However," she warned, "time is of the essence. We have been furnished with the location of Yolan Nabrood. Only when a decision has been reached on how the Cartel moves forward, can a determination be made on Nabrood's fate."

She turned, motioning to Lyn, who spoke quietly into her com link.

"Refreshments will be brought," Jenniiya told the Council, "and discussion can begin."


	27. Chapter 27

Part 27

"Major," Mon Mothma greeted, indicating the empty, fourth chair. "Please, sit down. Can I offer you kaffin?"

"Thank you, yes," Elhen Anders replied, walking across the room towards the Alliance Command Staff. She took her seat opposite Mothma. Riona Ambella and General Dræ sat either side of her.

"So," Dræ asked filling the beaker in front of her with kaffin, "You said you had important information?"

"I do, Sir. A ship docked with the _Home One_ earlier." She held out a folded, parchment communication, offering it to Mon Mothma. It was sealed with wax, in the ancient tradition. "The Captain delivered a communiqué from the Diazez Cartel," she went on as Mothma took the parchment. "The Manwah invites a representative of 'Chieftain Mothma's Clan' to attend the Council on Gehndaaria to discuss a peace treaty…"

Mon Mothma's eyes widened in surprise. She carefully broke the seal before opening it and reading the contents. It was, indeed, an invitation to discuss a peace treaty.

From the report Major Torshan had prepared on Gehndaaria and the Diazez culture, Mon knew that the Cartel were secretive, insular and fiercely protective of their society: to the point of cultivating an image of being mobsters, slavers and drug dealers with little tolerance for those who opposed them.

Alliance Command had been pleasantly surprised when the Cartel Manwah had made a token gesture of T-65 fighters. Mon herself had been convinced that any relationship between the Cartel and the Alliance had been scotched by the subsequent events on Gehndaaria. Now, it appeared, she had been wrong.

Very little surprised Mon Mothma anymore, but this invitation did. She looked up at Anders, the astonishment and anticipation evident on her face.

Elhen was unable to stop the smile that Mon Mothma's reaction pulled across her face, admitting, "That was pretty much my response too, Ma'am. I had almost opened the letter," she admitted, "before I realised it was addressed to you, personally."

Dræ looked from Anders to Mothma then Ambella, realising from their reactions that he was obviously missing something. "Is there some report that I've forgotten to read?" he asked.

"The Diazez Cartel are a very tight-knit community, Sir," Elhen began. "You need to understand their history to realise what they are offering. Their society was almost torn apart by warring between the clans. It was only _Diazez_, a peace treaty between all of the clans, that saved their civilisation from destruction."

"It's become more than just a treaty," Mothma put in. "It's what they live by: it's their law..."

"And it has survived and protected them for over two thousand years," Elhen went on. "This is the first time they've ever extended the protection of Diazez outside Gehndaaria…"

"The Alliance would, effectively, become the first new Diazez clan in two thousand years?" Rion asked.

"As a Clan," Mothma commented, her mind racing, "the Alliance would hold a seat on their Council, would be part of their decision-making process."

"More importantly, it guarantees that any of the Gehndaarian clanspeople who wanted to join the ranks of the Alliance, would be given leave to do just that," Elhen added. "Until now they've faced being unable to return to Gehndaaria. Joining the Rebel Alliance would have been seen as a betrayal of Cartel loyalties."

"I appreciate that there would be a great many positives in negotiating a treaty with them," Riona Ambella cautioned, "but there is one, major drawback."

"Which is," Mothma asked her.

"From Major Torshan's report, it is evident that the Manwah's word is law. If we accept a seat on the Diazez Council then whatever decisions are made, whatever decree the Manwah lays down, we will be duty bound to adhere too."

"A fair point," Mon agreed, "and something we should certainly discuss during the negotiations…"

General Dræ looked at her, quirking an eyebrow, "Then you are seriously considering this invitation?"

"We have to," Mothma confirmed. "The Cartel has opportunities not open to us: to access munitions, hardware, food, clothing," she went on, "And from the information we received from Leia Organa, the Manwah has forged an understanding with the Imperial Governor on Gehndaaria. Believing them to be loyal to the Empire, he may share information and intelligence more freely with her than he normally would. It could be a unique source of information for us."

"He actively petitioned the Emperor's private secretary to find out where Yolan Nabrood was being held," Elhen offered.

"We will be asking the Manwah and the Cartel to play a dangerous game," Ambella cautioned.

"Yes, we will," Mothma confirmed, "but we did not get this far by being cautious. And from everything I have read of the Cartel and the Manwah, they do nothing they are not willing to do. They will have considered every possibility."

She looked from Ambella to Dræ. "We had success at Yavin, we had success at Shaylin and at Seinar, but those encounters cost us dearly and, since then, we have been at a disadvantage. Our people are brave and strong, but they are weary and overstretched. You have seen the same data, the same statistics I have. We have the personnel but not the hardware. Delta Base is stretched. Echo Base is moving forward, but we lack some of the essential resources to man it effectively. We stripped the shielding equipment reserves of Delta Base to the minimum in order to provide a working shield generator for Echo Base. This could be the only opportunity we have to push ahead and finally move the Alliance into a position to become more than simply a nuisance to the Emperor."

Pausing, she sighed, admitting, "I agree that there is much we have to discuss, much we will have to negotiate, but we would be remiss in our duty to the men and women who fight at the sharp edge of everything we have created if we did not, now, give this invitation the due and careful consideration it deserves."

There was silence for a long moment after Mothma stopped speaking, her Chief of Staff and her War Minister considering her words.

Major Elhen Anders had never before been in a position to see the figurehead of the Rebel Alliance in full, and passionate, discourse. Elhen swallowed hard, inspired and humbled by the passion that radiated from the slender woman. She had never doubted that Mon Mothma was dedicated to returning the galaxy to a Republic, but to see how much she cared, not just for the cause, but for the men and women who put their lives on the line every day to achieve their ultimate goal, gave Elhen a whole new insight into Mon Mothma.

Mothma was not simply a politician who sought power. Instead, Mothma had accepted a position of power in order to try to make the galaxy a safer, less frightening place to inhabit.

Elhen Anders understood, now, why Palpatine had seen her as so much a threat…

General Dræ broke the silence, finally: harrumphing and leaned forward to pick up his cup. "Well," he announced, "we'd better order a whole new carafe of kaffin, because this is going to take some time!"

oo0oo

Nabrood was asleep again.

Wedge lay curled on his side in the semi-darkness of the cell, head pillowed on his arm, listening to the Gehndaarian's laboured breathing. Wedge was no doctor, but Nabrood didn't sound good. He needed some sort of medical attention, but if it hadn't come by now, Wedge suspected it never would.

His own coughing had subsided at least... as long as he didn't breathe too deeply. The skin on his face and neck, exposed to the heat blast in the tunnel the day of the tremor, still tingled but the itching had faded to a dull annoyance.

The tremor had almost cost them their lives, but it had also opened a door in his memory. His mind ran images through his head, sometimes only once, sometimes playing them over and over, fragmented but familiar.

The memories were only tentative, broken, but he remembered who he was. He was an X-wing pilot: a Lieutenant Commander in the Alliance to Restore the Republic. A Rebel...

Castell reared up, her smile concerned but indulgent. "_What has the Rebel Alliance gained since the great 'victory' at Yavin, Lieutenant Commander? The new Republic is doomed to failure..."_

Dread flared in the pit of Wedge's stomach. The Emperor would never stand aside. The Rebellion was founded on lies, founded by those who resented Palpatine's power...

Yet he was a Rebel... destined to die in an X-wing. He was here because he was a Rebel Lieutenant Commander... He had been drugged and tortured because he was a Rebel officer...

"_You have endured so much..." Castell told him _

Had he? There was still so much he couldn't remember...

A small voice of self-preservation warned him that he didn't want to remember: not that... He remembered Brin. That was enough.

Another image pushed up, coalescing: a tall man in Imperial uniform with a disdainful smile. _"And this would be Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles…"_

_Terror swept through him. He couldn't do this. He wasn't strong enough to do this..._

"_No!" Brin's voice cut through the panic. Wedge saw him surge to his feet and the panic changed. He tried to call out, to tell Brin to stop, but Nabrood had tackled him, bringing him to the ground. Relief tempered the fear._

"_Leave him alone! He's injured, damn you!"_

"_I am sorry, my friend… You were the target of the bounty hunters…"_

The bounty hunters had almost killed Luke...

He couldn't remember being attacked, being taken... but he could clearly remember lying on the floor, on a soft, thick rug, listening to the steady beep of Luke's heart monitor. There had been others there too. Hobbie... Brin...

Nabrood.

_They know you are here... The only thing that stopped the Governor storming the house was the fear that Skywalker would be injured…_

"_Skywalker is dead," _Castell told him_. "Aksha is dead... Skywalker killed him_..."

Wedge groaned softly, an image of the dark-haired pilot lying, lifeless, on the floor in front of him, playing through his head. Brin's body had still been warm... but there had been no pulse...

_Skywalker killed him_...

No... That was lies... Luke hadn't killed Brin. Luke had been injured. Lieutenant Colonel Castell had killed Brin. Castell had tortured him... and killed him…

_The Empire drugged and tortured you_…

The Empire…

The Empire ensured stability and a safe and secure society…

Then… why had he deserted the Empire for the Rebels?

He wouldn't have put himself in the path of pain and terror without a strong, compelling reason. He wouldn't have willingly risked his life every day, simply by being an officer in the Rebel Alliance, without a good reason.

_The Rebel Alliance will bring civil war._

And yet he had chosen to join their ranks.

The door opened, stopping his train of thought, spilling light into the cell. "On your feet!"

Wedge dragged himself up, rolling over and pushing himself up onto his knees. When Nabrood didn't move, the stormtrooper stepped inside, walking across to the Diazez man.

"He's sick," Wedge offered, climbing to his feet.

It occurred to him, as the stormtrooper looked down at Nabrood, that they might solve the situation by simply putting a blaster bolt in his head. Stomach turning in anxiety, Wedge watched the stormtrooper nudge Nabrood with his boot.

The Gehndaarian's eyes slid open. He looked up at the stormtrooper.

"On your feet!"

"I'll help him..." Wedge risked, moving forward.

When the stormtrooper didn't move to stop him, he grasped Nabrood's hand, helping the Gehndaarian to stand up. The stormtrooper pushed them both towards the door, ordering, "Move out."

oo0oo

Leia turned over and sat up. Lifting her pillow, she pummelled it with her fists then dumped it back onto the bed. Lying down, turning onto her side, she wrapped her arms around it. Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, she closed her eyes.

Sleep stubbornly evaded her. Her muscles ached dully from fatigue. She hadn't had a decent stretch of sleep since they had arrived on Hoth. She either lay with her mind running too fast to allow sleep, or nightmares would slam her awake after only a few hours respite, a scream choking in her throat.

She sighed, softly, and turned onto her back.

If this continued, she knew she would have to speak with Medical Specialist Nejes… or perhaps one of the other physicians. She was reluctant to do that, though. She had seen too many reports of Rebel personnel who had fallen into the destructive cycle of stims and sleepers: good people who had been driven to the edge of their endurance by the relentless pursuit of the Imperial forces.

Besides, she needed to be alert at a moments' notice and sleepers always left her sluggish and uncoordinated…

She sighed softly again, aware that continued lack of sleep was also going to leave her sluggish and uncoordinated. She pushed aside the little voice that nagged at the back of her mind, telling her that she was lying to herself, that she was more afraid of losing face, more afraid of Luke and Han Solo finding about her having trouble sleeping, than of taking the sleepers themselves.

If Solo found out he would be even more insufferable. He would taunt her with barbed comments, delivered with that infuriating, condescending smile on his face. She could hear him now. "_Maybe you'd sleep better if you loosened up all the starch in your underwear, your ice-ness!"_

She made a small sound of exasperation, curling onto her side and trying to put Han Solo out of her mind.

Maybe sleepers would be worth it after all, to give her some respite from the exasperating man.

She couldn't risk it, though. She had a responsibility to the men and women on this base. Like Rieekan and McQuarrie, she needed to be available at a moment's notice. If she took the sleepers, she could miss an important communiqué or incident.

Besides, if Luke found out, he would worry, and he had enough on his plate at the moment. There wasn't much that they could find for Luke or the other pilots to do around the base, and that left them with too much time to think: too much time for them to work out ill-conceived plans to try to rescue Wedge Antilles.

Her stomach flipped again, sending waves of nausea through her, as it always did when she thought about her decision and her agreement with the Diazez Manwah to leave Antilles on Gehndaaria in the hands of Vader.

There had been no other decision she could have made. To rescue Wedge, to have tried to bring him out with Luke and the others, would have brought about thousands of deaths…

She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, swallowing back the grief that rose up as her train of thought slid back to Alderaan. Letting her breath out slowly, she audibly reminded herself that she was not responsible for the destruction of Alderaan. Tarkin, Vader and Palpatine had required a target to demonstrate the power of the Death Star. If it hadn't been Alderaan it would have been another planet.

Alderaan had been put in the firing line the moment her father had chosen to stand beside Padme Amidala and Mon Mothma, forming the movement that had become the Alliance to Restore the Republic. In the years following Amidala's death, Bail and Mon had done what they could to quietly further the cause of the Alliance. When suspicion had fallen on Mothma, they had agreed together that she should leave Coruscant, giving a physical form to the figure head of the Rebellion, while he stayed, doing everything that he could to thwart the Emperor from within the Senate.

If only he had stayed on Coruscant, instead of returning to Alderaan… but it had been too dangerous to try to smuggle both General Kenobi and the Death Star technical plans into the heart of the Empire, so he had returned home. She had been supposed to bring General Kenobi to him on Alderaan.

Her father had mentioned that Kenobi might not come alone, that he might bring someone with him, someone who would potentially be a great asset to the Alliance's cause. He'd said nothing more than that and, knowing that he would have good reason to keep her in the dark, she hadn't pressed for an explanation. Now none would be forthcoming. Her father was dead. General Kenobi was dead. Mon Mothma had had no idea what or who Bail Organa had meant. And General Kenobi had brought only a backwater farm boy with him…

No… No, that wasn't fair. Luke was far more than just a farm boy. He was courageous, strong, a natural leader who inspired the unflinching loyalty of those who served under him, a talented fighter pilot...

And sometimes he would give her that wistful, little look that made her want to put her arms around him and hold him.

_But it's Han Solo you find yourself watching when you know he's not looking…_

Because he was boorish and insufferable! And arrogant! And a womaniser! And everything Luke wasn't!

Her comlink chimed.

Groaning softly, she peeled open her eyes, lifting the link from the shelf above her bed and answering it. "Organa…"

"Your Highness, it's Major Torshan. My apologies for waking you but I have some information you're definitely going to want to hear…"

oo0oo

Brigadier Derik Curzos looked across his desk at the white-uniformed Major beyond, and the small, black droid who stood at the Major's side. Leaning forward, clasping his hands on the desk, Curzos accused, "In the five years that I have been Commanding Officer of this facility, ISB has never before taken an interest in any of the prisoners."

The Major looked back at him, face impassive. "It is the Emperor who is interested in Antilles," he countered.

Curzos sat back, a small curl of fear settling in the pit of his stomach. He had not been informed of any special circumstances surrounding Antilles. He had, of course, seen the news broadcast where the Rebel had confessed to his crimes, but in the past few years even former Senators had been consigned to digging xylpher. Curzos had thought nothing of assigning Antilles to a mining detail.

He reached out, pressing a button on the com unit on the desk. "I was given no special instructions regarding him, or the other prisoner."

The Major quirked an eyebrow, "My orders concern Antilles only, Brigadier."

ISB might be solely interested in Antilles at the moment but Curzos had a feeling, given that the Rebel officer was sharing a cell with the Rebel sympathiser who had arrived at the same time, it would only be a matter of time before ISB would want to question the other Rebel too. And, right now, that was giving Curzos serious cause for concern.

"You misinterpret my meaning, Major," he told him, bringing up information on his data screen. "The Rebels were both put into general population. They were sent into the mines."

The office door opened, a young officer walking in as Curzos finished, "There was a rock fall a day or so ago. They were both injured..."

Turning his attention to his aide, Curzos ordered, "Lieutenant, have prisoners Two Three One Nine Four and Two Three One Nine Five brought back from the mines and have a medical specialist sent to attend them!"

"At once, Sir," the Lieutenant confirmed, turning and heading back out of the office.

"Antilles was obviously not seriously injured," the Major observed, "if he has been returned to the mines."

Curzos looked at him, annoyance mixing with his unease over Antilles potentially not being fit for interrogation. "This is a penal facility, Major," he announced, coldly. "The welfare of the prisoners is not normally a concern. They work until they die. Had I been informed of the possibility of Antilles being recalled for further questioning, he would not have been placed on work detail."

He paused, giving the Major an appraising look. "I will not be held responsible if Antilles is unfit for immediate questioning."

The smile the Major gave him chilled him. "Unless Antilles is unconscious, he will be fit for questioning, Brigadier."

oo0oo

"The ship has reached its destination, Manwah," Lyn supplied. "The Cartel's offer has been delivered."

Jenniiya nodded, smiling and sighing softly, "All we can do now is wait. It is in their hands. Have we still heard nothing more of their viability review on rescuing Antilles?"

"Nothing," Lyn confirmed.

"Then we must do everything we can to bring Nabrood home quickly and leave the way free for them."

"Indeed," Lyn agreed, lifting the carafe of kaffin. "To which end, Governor Oston has arrived. Barylo is bringing him up."

Jenniiya shuddered, her skin crawling at the thought of the Imperial Governor. "Odious, obsequious man... but a necessary evil. Has the Monetha been packaged?"

"It has," Lyn confirmed, pouring two beakers of kaffin. "Forgive me, Manwah, but are you entirely sure you wish to gift the painting to the Governor. It is one of the more valuable pieces..."

"And portrays a woman who was exiled for attempting to poison the Manwah and take power for herself. It was retained only because of the artist... Although I am told that Oston now believes it to be one of my favourite paintings..."

Lyn gave her a mischievous smile, admitting, "I am an unruly servant of the Cartel, Manwah. I was unable to resist."

"Hmmm," Jenniiya derided good-naturedly, scowling at her. "I shall overlook your fiction this time, since it is now working to our advantage."

The door chimed. Jenniiya sighed then schooled her face into a bright smile, standing and walking towards the door as it opened. "Governor," she greeted, holding out her hand to him.

Oston moved towards her, taking the offered hand and kissing her fingers. "A pleasure, as always, Manwah."

"Please," Jenniiya invited, slipping her arm into his and escorting him across to the table, "Sit. We have fresh bakes, the citrona ones you liked so much..."

"Manwah," Oston oozed, "I believe you are pampering me."

"Not at all, Governor," Jenniiya smiled, letting go of his arm and sinking gracefully into a chair. "The Cartel is always generous to those who look after its interests."

"Just as the Empire looks after its loyal servants," Oston assured her, "which is one of my reasons for requesting this meeting. The information is classified... however, I have been informed by the Emperor's personal secretary that Lord Vader will remain on Coruscant indefinitely, under house arrest, as a direct consequence of his actions here on Gehndaaria."

Jenniiya nodded graciously. "That news is most welcome, Governor. I will deliver it to the Council when it reconvenes."

Oston leant forward, cutting up the citrona bake on his plate. "The Chieftains have no plans to leave the capital?"

_So, the Governor was nervous about the continued presence of the Council._ Jenniiya filed that information away to discuss with Lyn later as her Secretar answered, "Traditionally, once Chieftains arrive, it may take weeks before they decide to leave, Governor. Marriages are arranged, deals made, slaves bought and sold..."

"And," Jenniiya added, "the Council has yet to decide upon the fate of the bounty hunters who began this. However," she went on, "we should be grateful to them for at least one thing."

"Which is?" Oston asked.

"The relationship between the Imperial Governor and the Diazez Manwah would not have been forged so quickly without their unsanctioned actions," she supplied, smiling. "You would still have been convinced that I was a vacuous, vain pawn: leader of the Cartel in name only."

Oston returned the smile, chuckling softly, assuring her, "I much prefer our present relationship."

"As do I, Governor," Jenniiya agreed, taking a mouthful of kaffin.

Oston took another bite of the citrona bake, savouring it for a long moment before swallowing and picking up his kaffin. "My second reason for requesting a meeting is the traitor, Nabrood." He took a mouthful of kaffin, before continuing, "The Emperor's personal secretary has confirmed that the Emperor is considering my petition, on your behalf, to release Nabrood into your custody."

"That," Jenniiya told him, "is welcome news!"

"Perhaps not so welcome," Oston warned. "If it is sanctioned, there will undoubtedly be certain stipulations attached. You may be asked to keep him available for questioning."

He leant forward, his expression grave, "I know how deeply his betrayal cut you, Manwah. I am very aware of how much importance the Cartel places making an example and taking retribution... But... would the Chieftains entertain the possibility of keeping Nabrood alive?"

Jenniiya looked at him for a long moment, saying nothing. She had no intention of killing Nabrood. His sacrifice had saved her, saved the Cartel. If the Empire wanted him kept alive, it would mean she could send him back to his people instead of having to make a show of killing him then hiding him.

"Perhaps," Lyn offered finally, "they would agree that to be within the Cartel but apart from it, able to see all that he was once attached to, but now shunned... perhaps that would be acceptable to them..."

"If Nabrood is released into Cartel custody," Jenniiya assured Oston, "you have my assurance that he will not be put to death. And he will be made available for questioning when necessary."


	28. Chapter 28

Part 28

Wedge trudged along the corridor, flanked by stormtroopers, nervous tension rippling through him. He'd been pulled out of the work detail in the mines, along with Nabrood. More disconcertingly, there had been an Imperial officer waiting for them in the cell: a physician. He had given them medical attention: spraying a cooling ointment onto Wedge's skin that had stopped the mild itch and giving Nabrood a nebuliser that had visibly eased the rasping wheeze of his breathing.

Wedge's disquiet had only intensified when the stormtroopers had arrived again, ordering him to his feet and herding him out of the cell...

Anxiety fluttered in the pit of his belly, now, as the troopers pulled him to a halt, pausing to allow a door to open before moving him inside. He kept his gaze down, looking at the floor.

"Lieutenant Commander Antilles?"

Swallowing, Wedge lifted his head, looking up. The white, uniform jacket of the ISB officer froze the breath in his chest. Panic sliced through him. He shook his head, taking a step back, a sob of denial pushing out of his throat.

_No... Please, gods, no..._

Demaec Freyh saw the terror wash across Antilles' face. He watched the Rebel pilot take a step back; watched the terror give Antilles strength to pull free of the stormtroopers as they grasped his arms.

"Hold him!" Demaec ordered, moving towards them, the interrogation droid trundling behind him. Antilles was fighting hard, however. Even with binders on his wrists, the stormtroopers were having difficulty getting a grip on him.

"Take him down!" Demaec ordered, concerned that the situation would spiral out of control and Antilles would be injured.

The stormtroopers did as they were ordered, wrestling Wedge to the floor, all but sitting on him to keep him down. Demaec dropped to his knees beside them. The droid rolled to a stop at his side and he turned, pulling a syringe from a small rack that the unit produced.

Turning back to Antilles, he pushed the hypodermic into the pilot's upper arm, delivering the full dose of the drug before withdrawing the needle. Screaming in denial, Antilles' struggles increased. He almost threw off the stormtroopers... and then his struggles slowly lessened as the narcotic took hold.

Swearing softly about the Rebel's parentage, Demaec discarded the hypodermic and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his uniform. He watched Antilles for a long moment, to make sure the drug had taken affect, before ordering, "Get him up. Put him on the chair."

The stormtroopers dragged the pilot off the ground, manhandling him across the room and dumping him onto the chair. Demaec followed them, moving in front of the pilot and crouching down. Antilles was trembling, his breathing fast and erratic.

"Lieutenant Commander?"

Antilles gave no indication that he'd heard.

Demaec tried again. "Wedge! Look at me!"

"LOOK AT ME!"

Antilles lifted his head, his eyes focussing slowly.

"So'shanti ye man ll'el!" Demaec told him.

It was a phrase that should have cut through the pilot's fear and panic, and the mild sedative that Demaec had administered, pulling a reaction from him. It was the code that the Diazez Cartel had arranged to confirm their identity to the Rebel Alliance pilots on Gehndaaria.

It was the only safe way Demaec had of trying to alert the Lieutenant Commander to the fact that the Imperial officer in front of him was, in fact, Rebel Alliance.

Demaec saw no recognition, however: no tightening of his jaw, no involuntary widening of his eyes, no change in the pattern of his breathing.

"So'shanti ye man ll'el," Demaec tried again, hoping that the phrase might connect a second time.

Wedge looked at the man in front of him. Instinct warned him that he needed to answer; that he needed to tell the man something to delay the inevitable... but he couldn't understand him. He couldn't think clearly. Everything was fuzzy, sluggish.

_You__have__suffered__so__much_...

Wedge closed his eyes, a soft moan escaping his throat. He could hear the soft beat of the waelven's wings above him. Dragging in a trembling breath, he opened his eyes, looking at the Imperial Officer, giving the only information that he knew was safe. "Lieutenant Commander... Wedge... Antilles. Rebel Alliance Forces..."

Demaec swore, silently, pushing himself to his feet.

Tasked with infiltrating the Möerdaast detention facility to ascertain the viability of extracting Antilles and possibly the Diazez man, Demaec had agreed with Major Elhen Anders that the cover of an ISB officer would not only be plausible but would give him the freedom he needed to move around without causing suspicion. There were few brave enough to question the movements of an ISB officer for fear of putting themselves under scrutiny. And ISB, in the form of Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell, had been highly visible when Antilles had been paraded in front of the media.

Anders had briefed him on Castell's attempt to mind-wipe Antilles, so he had been prepared for lapses in the pilot's memory. What neither he nor Anders had anticipated was how deep the conditioning had obviously gone. The extreme reaction that Antilles had shown when the stormtroopers had brought him into the room concerned him.

In order to protect his cover as an ISB officer, he would be expected to question Antilles. He had planned to use that time to find out how deep the mind-wipe had gone but, from Antilles' reaction, he knew that that ran the risk of fracturing the pilot's already fragile mental state.

There was another option... one that might give him some of the answers he needed without putting Antilles at further risk. However, he and Anders had agreed that, to avoid potential complications for the Diazez Cartel, he would involve Yolan Nabrood only as a last resort.

With Antilles in his present state, Demaec had no choice but to draw the Gehndaarian in. There was information he needed: information that was vital to whatever recommendations he made to Alliance Command. And he would have to make those proposals quickly. Antilles was exhausted, mentally and physically. He wouldn't last long in the detention facility.

Despite Antilles' condition, however, to send the pilot back to his cell too quickly might arouse suspicion, even for an ISB officer...

He turned to the stormtroopers, ordering, "Bring the other prisoner! The one Brigadier Curzos spoke of! The Diazez traitor!"

oo0oo

Unable to sleep, knowing that the techs were unlikely to be working on the X-wings in what was, by Echo Base time, the small hours of the morning, Hobbie wrapped up against the cold and sought the solitary familiarity of his T-65. The astromech unit assigned to him had been left in place in its niche behind the cockpit and it burbled a question at him as he climbed in and slid into the seat. Hobbie read the data screen then smiled, shaking his head, "No, it's okay, Dee-three. I just wanted to listen to some music."

The astromech trilled another question and Hobbie chuckled. "Yes, Dee-three, it's good stuff... although Brin and Luke would probably disagree... but only because they have no taste."

He put the music on, leaving the canopy open. Wrapping himself in a blanket, he settled back and closed his eyes. Slowly he lost himself in the drums, the sweeping chords and cadences of the music, feeling the tension gradually release from his body.

"Whatcha doin?"

Hobbie smiled, answering the question with a simple answer. "Listening..."

He opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Lainey.

She'd been crying again.

Leaving Wedge behind had affected all of them. They were all dealing with it in their own way. Maybe it was because she looked so lost, maybe it was just because he couldn't bear to see anyone cry, but a wave of fierce protectiveness swept over him.

She gave him a wan smile. "I heard the music..."

"Because you were wandering the hanger in the middle of the night..."

She shrugged, "Couldn't sleep."

Hobbie knew that feeling. He gave her another smile. "Want to join me?"

She frowned, looking at him as if he'd grown three heads. "Huh?"

"It'll be cosy," he offered. "Two will fit in here... just. I've got a blanket and there's another couple of hours of music on this stick..."

She hesitated, wondering if he was teasing her. Then she narrowed her eyes, accusing, "Why do I get the feeling that you've used that line before..."

He chuckled, "I have far better chat-up lines than 'Would you like to see my X-wing', kiddo! Besides, I'm your superior officer. Fraternisation! That's Conduct Prejudicial to Good Order and Discipline, i.e. not allowed."

She gave him a wary look. "People will talk."

"People are already talking," he argued, "about Solo and Nejes."

Lainey grinned wickedly, turning and looking in the direction of the Millennium Falcon. "She have dinner with him again?"

Hobbie chuckled, accusing, "See what I mean!"

Lainey turned back, looking at him. The bleak expression behind her eyes had been replaced by a spark of mischievousness. "My ground crew reckon that he's doing it to annoy the Princess."

Hobbie guffawed. "She's way out of Solo's league," he derided. "Princess Leia is a lady. She has breeding... manners... decorum..."

"And you know how a lady _should_ be treated..." she quipped.

Hobbie laughed outright. "She's way out of my league too, kiddo... And my senior officer. Off-limits! Fraternisation, remember!"

Lainey giggled turning her attention back to the music. "What is it you're listening to?"

"Yycen Gerd," he told her. "Musicians from back home..."

She stood for a moment, listening to the heavy beat of the music. It wasn't music she had ever listened to before, but she liked the beat and the deep growl of the singer's voice. "I've never heard anything like this stuff..."

Hobbie quirked an eyebrow, hazarding a guess. "You were more of a bebop and rhythm girl, right?"

"Yeah..." she smiled, remembering the times, only a few months before, when she had still been a University student on Tasariq. "Believe it or not, all I was concerned with was the gymnastic wires and how cute the Crashball captain was, until I met you lot."

"I can believe that," Hobbie told her with a grin. "But then, with real men like me and Wedge around, you..."

He trailed off, realising what he had just said, remembering that Wedge was no longer with them. The weight of what had happened crashed back in on him. He sighed, swearing softly, his stomach flipping.

Neither he nor Lainey said anything for a long moment, the silence filled with the music and the low growl of a man's bass voice. Then Lainey commented softly, "Nejes says that it's natural to feel guilty, and angry."

Hobbie nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

Lainey swallowed, taking a trembling breath as her eyes welled up again. "What about the relief?"

Hobbie frowned, turning his head, "Relief?"

She nodded, tears coursing down her cheeks. "I hate what happened to him... I hate that we had to leave him behind... but I... I'm so relieved it was him, not me..."

Hobbie shrugged off the blanket, sitting up and reaching out to run the back of his fingers down her cheek. "Lainey... that's okay. We all feel that too..."

She looked at him, "Really?"

"Really," he assured her. "Really, truly, honestly. Look," he offered, taking hold of her hand, "Why don't we have our next session with Nejes together and talk about things... together?"

She nodded, brushing away the tears with the heel of her free hand. "I'd like that..."

"Good," he told her, squeezing her arm. "Now," he went on, giving her a smile, "do you want to listen to this music or not?"

"I do..." she told him, "but wouldn't the pilots' lounge be less cramped? There's a player there. And sofas..."

Hobbie grinned pushing himself to his feet. "Good idea! Go grab your blankets, kiddo! Just wait until you hear _Valkonen__'__s__Ride_. You're going to love it!"

oo0oo

"No."

"I must," Mothma countered.

General Dræ looked at her in incredulity. "Riona is right, Mon. You are too important. We cannot allow you to do this!"

"There is no other way," Mon countered again. "We must look at the wider picture. The potential of what the Diazez Cartel is offering is too important for anyone other than the best negotiator we have... I admit," she went on, "I am a little out of practice but..."

"Leia is already known to the Manwah," Riona began.

"In order to protect Echo Base," Mon pointed out, "we refused Major Torshan permission to leave Hoth to personally command a mission to Möerdaast. We cannot now give Leia orders to leave Hoth simply because it suits our needs, especially when General Rieekan has taken the decision to ground everything until the shield generator is closer to completion."

"If you are captured by the Empire..." Riona tried.

"The Diazez Cartel would not put themselves at risk," Mon assured her. "They will undoubtedly have safety protocols in place. Besides," she went on, "this ship may soon be tasked in a major operation. How is the _Home__One_ any safer than Gehndaaria in that situation?"

"You will not be aboard the _Home__One_ during that operation," Dræ pointed out.

"No," Mon agreed. "I will be on Gehndaaria."

"You are determined to do this!" Riona accused.

"Yes," Mon confirmed. She looked from Riona to the General, entreating, "I am a diplomat, an ambassador. I am trained and skilled in the art of negotiation. It is what I do best. I would not change any of the decisions that brought me here," she went on, "and I gladly accepted my position within the Alliance but, right now, I am best placed on Gehndaaria, negotiating this treaty with the Diazez Cartel, with their Manwah, with their Clans."

"Then I will go with you," Elhen Anders offered.

"No, Major," Mothma told her. "Riona and the General will have more need of your insight, especially with the possibility of a major operation being launched shortly."

"Since you are determined to do this," Dræ announced, "Riona and I should relocate to Delta Base. Vanden Willard is best placed to give us all the facilities we need. And we should arrange a briefing with Ackbar."

"I suggest," Elhen put in, "that for Diazez security as well as your own, Ma'am, we keep the Gehndaarian negotiation strictly need-to-know. General Willard should be briefed personally when we reach Delta Base. Admiral Ackbar should, of course, be briefed before you leave. Other than that," she finished, "no one should know."

"I concur, Major," Dræ agreed.

"Then, Major Anders," Mothma ordered, "I will leave those arrangements in your hands."

Elhen nodded, getting to her feet. "I'll inform you when everything's in place, Ma'am."

oo0oo

Luke drifted awake, lying for a long moment, not wanting to leave the warm comfort of being not-quite-awake. The muted wail of a klaxon reached him, followed by the muffled thump of an explosion. General McQuarrie's engineers were still hard at work, it seemed.

Grumbling about a pilot not being able to sleep with explosions in the facility every two seconds, Luke stretched... then cursed softly as the frigid air rippled across his unprotected skin. Dragging the blankets over him, he turned onto his side. Leaving the room in darkness for a few moments longer, his thoughts turning back to the issue he had been considering before he had finally fallen asleep.

Foiled by Threepio's untimely, if well-meaning, interference, Artoo hadn't been able to acquire any information from Major Torshan's files. The Major had had a meeting with Leia, but the information had been about suspected Imperial deployments, how they would affect the supply route to Echo Base, the continuing Imperial blockade of Merivian that stopped any rescue attempt for Captain Valdez and Major Farr.

From what Artoo had reported, Wedge hadn't even been mentioned.

Luke had figured that Rieekan and Rebel Command were keeping information from him and the other pilots, but if the Alliance had managed to get any information at all on Wedge, Luke knew the situation would have been discussed. Artoo's little spying attempt had confirmed for him that no-one yet knew where Wedge was being held.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back.

His father had been a powerful Jedi. If his father had been here, or if Ben had, they would have been able to find Wedge. He knew, deep in his gut, that they would. Not only would they would have found him, but they'd have walked into whatever hell-hole he had been thrown into, used their skill and their Jedi mind powers, and brought him out.

Only they weren't here. They had both been taken from him. Vader had taken them from him, leaving him with only a brief glimpse of the world that could have been his.

_For over a thousand generations the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice..._

Anger surged and he held onto it, using it to give him the strength to fight down the grief that also rose up, threatening to swamp him. He could have been a Jedi knight: a protector and peacekeeper. Instead, everything that had meant anything to him had been taken from him or destroyed and he had been thrown into a war... where he had been unable to protect anyone.

Even Leia's rescue had been a sham: the Imperials had allowed them to leave only in anticipation that she would lead the Imperial machine to Yavin. The Alliance had been victorious... but so many had been lost: Ben, and Biggs. And now Wedge...

Everything he had once known had gone. Everything that he cared for now was being taken from him bit by bit... by the Empire, and by Vader...

Dark Lord of the Sith: the man who had killed his father.

_Damn you, Vader! One day you will pay for everything that you have done! One day the Rebellion will have the strength to destroy you and your Emperor!_

oo0oo

Deep in meditation, Vader felt the small tremor of anguish ripple through the Dark Side of the Force. He searched it out, trying to grasp hold of it, but it was already fading, receding before he could locate it. The source, however, had been unmistakeable.

Raw, untrained but laden with potential: the same energy he had sensed during the attack on the Death Star and then, again, on Gehndaaria. It was no longer frail and weak as it had been Gehndaaria, however. It was strong and compelling, filled with grief and hatred.

Beneath the obsidian mask, a smile – of pride and approval – pulled across Vader's lips. He allowed himself the satisfaction of a father over the accomplishments of a son for only a moment, bringing his emotions tightly back under control. He could not risk Palpatine sensing them.

The Emperor believed his previous preoccupation lay with Padme, and with the memories of what had once been. In one sense, the Sith Master was right, and it suited Vader to allow Palpatine to believe it. Memories of Padme had risen up... but it was not just memories of her compassion and of the scent of her skin, of her hair, as they stole time together on Coruscant. Other memories had reared up of his need to protect her: his desire to secure the galaxy for her; of ruling the galaxy with her; of raising their child and founding a dynasty that would live on through their child and his children, and his children's children.

Memories of the hopes and dreams that had been ripped apart by a lie.

_It__seems,__in__your__anger,__you__killed__her_.

He had not killed her. She had survived long enough for the child to be born, their son, who had lived and grown strong... while he had simply existed.

Palpatine's lie had bound him, fettering him to the Sith Master: who had encased him in technology, ensuring he stayed alive.

Unable to follow Padme into death, the shattered remains of the Jedi knight had embraced the grief, the hatred and the self-loathing, embracing to the Dark Side... just as his son, untrained and unskilled in the ways of the Force, was channelling the Dark Side now.

Luke had obviously recovered from the almost-fatal attack of the bounty hunters. Moreover, the experiences had made him stronger.

Vader withdrew slowly from his meditation, content in the knowledge that his son had survived the bounty hunters' attack and regained his strength.

He would have to move carefully and lay aside the plans for his son for a time. He would have to obey Palpatine's orders implicitly and avoid doing anything that would alert the Sith Master's already aroused suspicions...

Vader had no misapprehensions that, alone, he was not strong enough to stand against Palpatine and the loyalty the man commanded from those around him. With Luke at his side, however, things would be very different.

He had been unable to save Padme, but with his son beside him, he would finally be able to fulfil the pledge he had made to her. Under his secret guidance, Palpatine's Empire would give way, and in its place Vader would found a dynastic autocracy ruled by their son and their son's children.

oo0oo

Pharl McQuarrie turned, walking across the hanger and down the corridor towards the command centre. He yawned, rubbing a gloved hand across his face as his stomach growled. A large beaker of kaffin, some grub, and he'd be ready to go again. He'd arrange kaffin and food for his engineers too.

Pride swelled. His engineers were excelling themselves, moving more quickly than even he had thought possible. And they were still doing everything by the book, so there had been no accidents. Moreover, all three engineers who had been injured in the icefall before Rieekan arrived, had returned to duty too.

The Lieutenant in the command centre stood up saluting McQuarrie, "General."

"Any kaffin on the go, Lieutenant? Maybe some grub?"

"Kaffin pot's in the corner, Sir. Something to eat might take a little longer, but I'll get it arranged for you."

"Thanks," McQuarrie told her, turning towards the kaffin. "My engineers could do with something too, Lieutenant

"I'll get that arranged, Sir," she assured him.

"When is General Rieekan due on duty?" he asked, pouring the kaffin.

"He's in his office now, Sir," the Lieutenant confirmed.

"Thank you," Pharl told her, sipping from the beaker, savouring the strong, hot liquid as he walked over and knocked on Rieekan's door.

The General looked up. "Pharl, come in!"

"Didn't expect you to be on duty this early," McQuarrie began, walking towards him and sinking into the chair across from him, "Or have you not gone to bed yet?"

Rieekan chuckled, "It's early. And it's the only time of the day where I can ensure being left in peace to deal with reports."

"Well, I'm only here to rustle up some grub for my engineers," McQuarrie assured him. "The Lieutenant said you were here, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to report that the excavation works are going more quickly than we expected. The fitting-out is taking a little longer, but it's still ahead of schedule. If we can keep moving at this rate, we'll be ready to start on the personnel quarters by late tomorrow."

"Excellent news!" Rieekan grinned then assured the other General, "You and your people have worked above and beyond the call, Pharl, and you have my personal gratitude."

McQuarrie nodded, a proud smile pulling at his lips. "Thank you. I'll let them know. They'll appreciate it."

"Would they appreciate it more if it came from the Princess Leia?" Rieekan countered.

McQuarrie grinned, "They might just at that..."

"Then I'll ask her to do just that. And I'll contact Alliance Command and have the next group of engineers brought in as soon as possible. I'd like that shield generator up and running and the ion cannon in place before we transfer the squadrons here."

"There's enough room to bunk down the new engineering contingent in the hangars," Pharl told him, "even if we're delayed in completing the fit-out. We can section off some space for them and do the final blasting for the hangar entrance once they've been moved into quarters."

Rieekan nodded, "Good. I'll keep that as a contingency."

He sat back, looking at Pharl, asking, "I don't suppose you could use the help of Skywalker and the other pilots? Specialist Nejes," he explained, "has cleared them for return to duty but our only defence at the moment is concealment so I'm reticent to let them fly sorties in case the Empire start snooping around this sector. Boredom and too much time to think, however, aren't a good combination, especially with Antilles still unaccounted for."

Pharl considered the options for a moment then nodded slowly, "I can find things for them to do. If they don't have any engineering skills it'll be menial things, like laying the floor racking, running and hanging the ducting, that sort of thing... but it should keep them busy. And it'll free up my engineers to do other stuff. Or give them a few extra hours downtime."

"They could use that. You could use some downtime too!" Rieekan pushed.

Pharl chuckled softly, assuring him, "There will be time to relax and to get a decent night's sleep once this place is serviceable. Until then," he went on, pushing himself to his feet, "there's kaffin."


	29. Chapter 29

Part 29

Nabrood moved obediently through the door as the stormtroopers pushed him into the room. He kept his head down, forcing himself not to react when he saw Antilles lying unconscious on the floor.

"Release his wrists!" a voice ordered. "Put him against the wall!"

The stormtroopers obeyed, removing the restraints, manhandling Nabrood across the floor. They kicked his legs wide and shoved him against the wall in a classic stress position. Then they stepped away.

Nabrood heard softer footfalls behind him, then winced as a hypodermic needle stabbed into his arm. He felt the cool liquid flow into his vein and closed his eyes, resigning himself to another round of beating and questioning.

Demaec withdrew the needle, walking across to the table and laying the hypodermic down. He turned to the stormtroopers, ordering, "Wait outside. I'll call when I need you."

The two men turned, marching out of the room.

Demaec waited until the door had closed then walked across to Nabrood. "Easy, friend," he told the Gehndaarian. "It was a vitamin shot I gave you, nothing more."

Nabrood stayed silent, trusting nothing that he was told. The drug was different from the one Vader had given him, however. His head remained clear; there was no encroaching weakness in his muscles.

"So'shanti ye man ll'el..."

Nabrood recognised the ancient Gehndaarian. It meant "Power to those who empower themselves." More importantly, it was the code phrase that Jenniiya had arranged to confirm their identity to the Rebel pilots. That meant one of two things: the man at his side was a Rebel; or the information had been tortured out of Antilles and the ISB officer was playing with him.

Keeping his gaze on the floor, Nabrood answered, "Empowerment does not include the torturing of wounded soldiers..."

He steeled himself for a blow to the kidneys, or the stomach... but it didn't fall. Instead, the Imperial told him, "You saved Skywalker's life: you and Callen, on the floor of the hotel room. You carried Aksha into the cell where Castell convinced Antilles he was dead. Your duty is to protect your people. You gave yourself up to fulfil that duty."

All of that was true... and neither Antilles nor Aksha had revealed anything of Callen, or of Klivian. It was possible Castell had tortured it out of Antilles after he had been removed from the Diazez manor, but she had been more focussed on mindwiping him by then, than of gaining any more information...

When Nabrood remained silent, Demaec tried another tactic, telling him, "Barylo's the new Secor."

The Gehndaarian turned his head, looking at the man, "So, Gage deferred to Barylo... And you know this, how?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of Demaec's mouth. "Because I was briefed by the officer who set up the mission with your people. I'm Alliance Special Ops. Your people are hopeful that they can get you out of here legitimately. I'm here to bring Antilles out."

He saw Nabrood glance towards the unconscious pilot and assured him, "He's okay. A tranquiliser shot, nothing more. He didn't react well to seeing me. Think it was the uniform."

"He has endured much," Nabrood confirmed. Then, still wary, he accused, "And you risk much..."

Demaec grinned at him. "I'm a Rebel. I'm used to risk. Besides my Arfore unit is jamming any signals into and out of the room. And," he went on, "as far as the Brigadier is concerned, I don't believe he'll doubt my report that Antilles collapsed under questioning... If he even asks..."

He paused, looking over at the pilot, "You don't trust me. I accept that."

Looking back at the Diazez man, he admitted, "But there's information I need before I can make any recommendations to Alliance Command about getting Antilles out."

He paused then went on, "We didn't want to involve you because your people are trying to get you out of here legitimately... Endangering them is the last thing we want."

Nabrood looked at him then pushed himself off the wall, turning and drawing himself up to his full height. He opened his mouth to speak, but the breath caught in his chest pushing him into a coughing fit.

Demaec frowned in concern then stepped in as the coughing deepened, with Nabrood unable to get a breath. He eased the Gehndaarian to the floor, supporting his back until the spasm finally eased and Nabrood managed to draw in a breath... then another.

"Brigadier Curzos said you'd both been injured," he told Nabrood. "What happened?"

The Diazez man said nothing for a moment. His breathing had calmed but was still interspersed by shallow coughs. Finally, he supplied, "Tunnel collapsed... Xylpher fire... fumes..."

He looked up at the Rebel agent. "I'm sworn to protect Antilles... I will do whatever... you need of me... even if that means my death..."

"Okay," Demaec told him, having been warned of, and understanding, the man's fierce loyalty to the people he had sworn to protect. It was his own loyalty to the Rebel Alliance that had brought him into an Imperial penal facility to save just one man.

"But," he countered, "let's not dig your grave just yet."

oo0oo

Luke dragged himself out of the warmth of his bed and into the cool air of his quarters. Turning the lights on, he headed for the fresher.

It had been years since he had last been on Tatooine, but his body had never fully adjusted to the lack of the burning heat he had grown up with. On the other planetary bases, or on ships, he had always felt the cold far quicker than his friends in the squadron. Desert born, he had never imagined there could be anything as severe as this frigid, bone-numbing cold...

But at least he was alive...

They had no idea if Wedge was alive or not... and every day without news pushed the possibility of rescuing him further and further out of reach.

Luke took a deep breath, pushing away the negative thoughts.

Stepping out of the fresher, he reached for his clothes, pulling them on hurriedly. He slid his feet into his boots then reached for his jacket, shrugging it on. Heading out into the corridor, he walked into the room that had been allocated as the pilots' lounge; their temporary rest area.

He stopped, smiling as he saw the two figures, fast asleep beneath blankets, curled together on one of the sofas. Hobbie and Lainey. Hobbie's music was still growling out of the speakers.

Luke walked over, reaching across Lainey to shake Hobbie's shoulder. There was no response and he shook the pilot's shoulder again, harder.

Hobbie grunted, blinking awake. "Hmm...? What..."

Luke grinned, "Up and at em, Lieutenant!"

Hobbie tried to sit up then realised that Lainey was lying beside him. His eyes went wide. He looked from Lainey to Luke. "This isn't what it looks like!"

Luke's couldn't help laughing at the expression on Hobbie's face. "It looks like someone who's lending a sympathetic ear to a buddy having a hard time," he assured the other pilot.

Hobbie visibly relaxed. "Then it's exactly what it looks like..."

"How'd it go?" Luke asked.

"She's getting there," Hobbie told him. "We're going to do our next session with Nejes together."

"Whatever helps," Luke agreed.

Hobbie considered him for a moment, then asked, "How are you doing?"

"Probably about the same as you..." He shook his head, shrugging, trying, "Once we have news of Wedge..."

Hobbie nodded, understanding exactly what Luke meant. It was the not knowing that was killing them. If Wedge was dead, at least they could grieve.

Part of him desperately wanted Wedge to be alive... but another part of him hoped that Wedge was gone, that he was no longer suffering...

Hobbie had acknowledged, the day that he joined the Rebel Alliance, that he was flirting with death and torture. The Empire would treat him not just as a traitor but as a deserter, possibly even a spy. Until he had come face to face with it on Gehndaaria, though, it had been something that he had managed to put to the back of his mind.

He couldn't put the memories of seeing Wedge lying unconscious on the deck of the bounty hunters' ship to the back of his mind, though; couldn't get rid of the memory of Alissha's bruised and swollen face... or of Yolan Nabrood carrying Brin's unconscious body through the door.

Nejes had assured him that it was all normal, that everything he was feeling showed that he had compassion and loyalty. He believed her... at least his mind did. His heart had yet to accept it.

Luke saw the emotion flit across Hobbie's face and straightened, telling him, "Wake Lainey, get yourself un-entangled and I'll rustle up some food."

Hobbie's stomach rumbled audibly at the thought and he found a smile. "Sounds like a plan to me, Boss!"

oo0oo

Elhen Anders looked up as the doors opened. She turned, saluting smartly as Vaelik Dræ walked in. "General."

Dræ nodded acknowledgement, throwing her a salute in response as he moved towards her. "I've left Riona and Mothma to discuss this Gehndaaria business," he told her. "Mothma's aide said you had news."

"Yes, Sir," Elhen confirmed. "The Imperials are withdrawing from Merivian. It could be a ruse to draw out Major Farr and Captain Valdez, so our people are standing off for a time before moving in for the pick up."

"Have we had any sign of Farr and Valdez?" Dræ asked.

"Yes, Sir," Elhen confirmed. "They've been activating a rescue beacon every few hours: not long enough for the Star Destroyer to get a fix on them, but long enough to let us to know they're still alive."

Dræ considered that for a moment and then asked, "Where are the rescue team?"

Elhen pulled up a map of the sector. "They're holding off here, Sir," she told him, pointing out the position. "This moon is screening them from the Star Destroyer, but still gives them line of site to Merivian. Once the Imperials have completely withdrawn, the team will send out three, quick-burst responses to the rescue beacon. When the team are satisfied that the situation is secure, they'll fast-response in for the extraction."

"Are Valdez or Farr injured?" Dræ asked.

"We have no idea, Sir," Elhen admitted, "but neither of them received any injuries, that we're aware of, during the evacuation."

Dræ made a small sound of acknowledgement, looking over the sector map again before asking, "What time is the briefing with Ackbar scheduled?"

"The Admiral will make himself available whenever you are ready, Sir," Elhen confirmed. "He's standing by for your order."

Dræ harrumphed again then told her, "No time like the present, Major."

He paused then asked, "Have you had time to put anything in place for the Gehndaaria excursion."

"Mon Mothma should travel on the ship the Diazez Cartel sent, General," Elhen told him. "The crew already expect to return with an envoy from the Alliance, so we have no need to brief them on their passengers. And the Cartel will have put security arrangements in place for their own ship. The less contact we have with Gehndaaria, the safer it will be."

"I concur," Dræ agreed.

"There's an ancient Gehndaarian custom, still in use today, that will work to our advantage too, General. The Cartel covered Skywalker and the other pilots with veils when they smuggled them out of the city. The Gehndaarians won't question if our people are similarly covered. Showing our respect of their customs might also work to our advantage."

"And Mon has no need to reveal her identity until she reaches the Manwah," Dræ considered. He nodded, telling her, "Good. Good."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Veils, eh?" he commented. "Then, do me a favour?"

Elhen frowned, assuring him, "If I can, Sir..."

"Find something gaudy and sparkly for Mon to wear..." His smile widened, "She'll hate it!"

"Sir..." Elhen began. General Dræ had the reputation of having a playfully wicked streak that had pulled silent curses from various aides on many occasions. Elhen had no doubt that the man had been an accomplished practical joker as a boy.

Dræ dropped a hand onto her shoulder, "I will present it to her myself, Major."

Elhen chuckled softly, shaking her head. "In that case, I will see what I can do for you, Sir."

oo0oo

"Oh, Master Luke! I am so glad I found you!"

Luke turned, smiling at the droid, "Threepio, what is it?"

"General Rieekan wants to see you in the command centre as soon as possible," the droid told him.

Hope flared. "Has there been news of Wedge?" Luke asked. "Are we flying?"

"Oh..." Threepio began, "No... No, I don't believe so. If there is, or if you are, he didn't tell me... although he did appear somewhat preoccupied. All General Rieekan said was that General McQuarrie's engineers are looking for help..."

Sighing softly, hopes dashed, Luke nodded. "I see... Thanks, Threepio."

He turned away then turned back, "Threepio, can you arrange some food and kaffin for the pilots?"

"I will arrange that straight away, Master Luke," the droid assured him.

"Thanks," Luke told him, turning away. He headed out of the hangar and along the corridor towards the command centre. Leia was there. She looked across at him, leaving what she was doing to greet him. "Luke..."

"Leia..." he smiled, returning her brief embrace. Pulling back, looking at her, he frowned, concerned by how drawn she looked: weary almost. "You okay? You look tired."

She pushed away his concern with a bright smile and a wave of her hand, assuring him, "I'm fine. There's just a lot to get done."

He nodded, unconvinced but knowing better than to make an issue of it in public. Leia would simply get defensive and transform into a Senior Officer of the Rebel Alliance, rather than a friend. She had enough on her plate right now, without him pushing the point, especially with her ongoing dispute with Han.

"Yeah," he agreed instead. "Threepio said that General Rieekan wanted to see me, something about helping out the engineers?"

Leia nodded, "Yes. General McQuarrie could use some extra pairs of hands to help run and hang ducting, lay floor racking, that sort of thing." She dropped a hand on his arm, "It's nothing very exciting but it will free up engineers to start working on the personnel quarters so that we can bring in the engineers for the shield generator and the ion cannon."

"We'll do whatever we can to help," he told her, relieved that they finally had something to do instead of sitting around, cooling their heels. Lainey was too quiet for his liking. Hobbie and Brin were getting antsy. Alissha was, as always, composed and together. Her calming influence had helped him keep Hobbie and Brin in line, but it was only a matter of time before they found something to keep them amused.

This, at least, would keep them busy.

"Threepio's just rustling up some grub for us," Luke went on, "then we'll report wherever you need us." He paused then suggested, "We could probably rope in some of the X-wing techs too..."

"That's an excellent idea, if they can be spared. Thank you," she told him, squeezing his arm.

"Your Highness?"

She turned, looking at the Lieutenant, lifting her hand in acknowledgement before turning back to Luke, telling him, "Report to General McQuarrie. He knows where he needs you."

"Will do..." he confirmed.

He hesitated, catching her hand as she turned to move away, "Don't work too hard..."

She smiled at him, promising, "I won't, Luke." She paused, her eyes searching his face for a moment before she asked, "How are you doing?"

He shrugged, admitting, "I've been better."

She frowned, "It's not your... injuries?"

"No," he assured her. "No, I'm fine. It's just..."

"Wedge?" Leia concluded.

Luke nodded, sighing. "I just wish we knew what... what had happened."

"As soon as we know anything, Luke, I promise we'll let you know..."

"Your Highness?"

Leia glanced across at the Lieutenant again before turning back to Luke. "I'm sorry, I'm needed. Come back later," she offered, "when you're finished with McQuarrie. We'll have dinner... Talk..."

Luke nodded, "Okay."

He watched her for a moment as she walked away, then he turned and headed back out into the corridor. Leia definitely looked tired. She was working too hard, he was sure of it.

Normally he would have discussed things with Han, but the Corellian wasn't very forgiving where Leia was concerned, right now. Not that Leia was any different where Han was concerned.

She hadn't forgiven Han for putting the base at risk by turning up after the Gehndaaria rescue. Luke had tried pointing out that she had gone to Gehndaaria because she was worried about him and the other pilots, and that Han and Chewie had come to Echo Base for exactly the same reasons.

Leia had countered that going to Gehndaaria had been completely different and had refused to discuss the situation further.

Luke also knew that she was angry at Han because of his failure to officially commit to the Rebel Alliance, despite everything he had done since the Death Star. Chewie was ready to join up, but his loyalty to Han overrode his allegiance to Luke, Leia and the Rebellion.

To be honest, Luke wasn't quite sure why Han had stayed around so long when he vociferously intimated that every job was the last one before he split. But then he always managed to find another reason not to leave. Luke had a feeling that it had more to do with what Han felt for Leia than the Corellian was willing to admit.

As for Leia, Luke wasn't sure what she felt for Han, other than exasperation and irritation. Her whole existence was devoted to the Rebel Alliance. Not that he could blame her after everything that had happened to her. Like him, she had lost almost everything...

Maybe he should...

"Master Luke!"

Threepio's call drew Luke out of his thoughts and he stopped, looking across at the protocol droid as Threepio walked towards him.

"I have arranged for food and kaffin to be served in the pilot's lounge. Kay-Threepio, the officious dullard," he went on, "tried to override my request, however, I informed him that both General Rieekan and General McQuarrie required your presence and he soon changed his tune!"

Luke smiled, "Thank you, Threepio."

"The serving droids will bring it when it is ready."

Luke hesitated and then asked, "Can you arrange one more thing for me?"

"Of course, Master Luke!" Threepio assured him.

"Make sure that Leia gets something too?"

"I will arrange that at once, Master Luke!"

oo0oo

The doors opened, allowing Vader entrance to Palpatine's throne room. Irritation washed off the Emperor in waves as Vader walked towards him. For a brief moment, Vader wondered if his caution and control had not been enough and that, despite everything, Palpatine had sensed the treason growing within his once, most loyal servant. Or perhaps, having been assured that Luke was not Force-sensitive, Palpatine had been alerted to the boy's growing powers.

However, Vader knew that if Palpatine had chosen to mock him, to lull him into a false sense of security by luring him here before arresting him, there would have been a significant security presence not only in the throne room but in the corridors leading here.

There had been none, was none, and only Palpatine's closest advisors were with him.

Composed and tightly controlled, Vader reached the dais and sank to one knee, bowing his head in respect, "You summoned me, my Master."

"We have had confirmation," Palpatine told him, "that, as we suspected, the passenger liners stolen from the Mon Calamari shipyards have been entered into the service of the Rebellion. We have also received news," he went on, "that Mon Mothma and her advisors are currently aboard one of those cruisers."

"Our information leads us to believe," Imperial Advisor Isard supplied, "that the modifications to the liners are not yet complete. The ships may be space-worthy but the Rebels have neither the resources nor the equipment to complete the re-fit of both cruisers to battle readiness. In short, they are vulnerable."

"You will return to the _Executor_," Palpatine commanded, "hunt down those ships and destroy them! I want nothing left of them, Lord Vader!"

"I understand, Master," Vader assured him.

Palpatine pushed himself to his feet, ordering, "Rise, my friend. Walk with me."

Vader did as he was told, flowing to his feet, turning and dropping into step beside the Sith Lord as Palpatine moved towards the door.

"I had hoped to devote more time to you, Lord Vader," Palpatine began. "I had very much looked forward to sharing meditation and reflection with you. However, events have conspired to prevent that. To assure the continued prosperity of the Empire, matters of State must take precedence over personal desires."

"I understand, my Master," Vader told him.

"You are a loyal friend," Palpatine oozed. "You have been my constant ally from the very start."

He stopped, turning to look at Vader. "Bring Mon Mothma to me, if possible, Lord Vader. If not, the destruction of the Mon Calamari cruisers will suffice. Without them, the Rebel nuisance will be unable to move in any great numbers. They will be confined to their planetary bases, where we will hunt them down and crush them."

"I will not fail you, Master," Vader assured him.

"I know you will not."

Palpatine's tone was light, but the threat behind the cordiality was unmistakeable. Vader bowed in acknowledgement. Then he turned, walking out of the room into the corridor beyond.

oo0oo

"You're sure about this?" Demaec asked.

Nabrood nodded. "You must preserve your cover."

Demaec shrugged, "Okay." Then he backhanded the Gehndaarian across the face.

The blow sent Nabrood stumbling backwards, into the wall. He leaned against it for a moment, taking a breath. Then he pushed himself upright, taking a step towards the Rebel agent.

"Again?"

Nabrood nodded, bracing himself. This time the blow not only knocked him backwards but he tasted blood in his mouth. He straightened, looking at the Rebel, who nodded.

"That'll do it," Demaec confirmed, moving in to inspect Nabrood more closely. "Your lip's cut. Did I rattle any of your teeth?"

"I am otherwise unharmed," Nabrood confirmed, letting the blood trickle down his chin onto his bare chest. "I have suffered worse."

Demaec nodded, telling him, "I can see that from the scars you carry, friend."

He paused, then told Nabrood, "I'll do what I can to keep you out of the mines. You do what you can to stay alive."

"Keep me out of the mines," Nabrood assured him, "and I will remain alive."

Nodding, Demaec stepped back, telling him, "Lie against the wall. I'll have the stormtroopers take you both back to the cell. Antilles will be out for another few hours." As Nabrood sank to the floor, lying on his side against the wall, Demaec assured him, "I'll get word to you when I can."

Then he turned, heading for the door. It opened at his approach. The stormtroopers turned, looking at him. "Take the traitor back to his cell!" he ordered. "Come back for the Rebel."

They obeyed, marching across to Nabrood, dragging him off the ground. Demaec turned his back, walking towards the computer console, feigning disinterest. Only when the doors had closed behind them did he move over to Antilles, dropping to his knees beside the pilot. He laid a gentle fingers on Antilles neck, checking his pulse, finding it strong and regular.

Sitting back, he considered the unconscious pilot for a long moment. He was no medical specialist. There was no way he could risk keeping Antilles sedated. He had only resorted to knocking the pilot out in the first place because he had reacted so violently. The side effects of the drugs could affect his breathing and the burning xylpher fumes would have damaged his lungs as well as Nabrood's. Or it could drop his blood pressure dangerously low. After everything he had been subjected to, Demaec wasn't convinced that the pilot's heart would cope with that.

Sighing, unable to decide what to do for the best, Demaec climbed to his feet. There were other, more pressing things that he had to do right now that would have a direct bearing on any decision he made about Antilles. Walking across to the desk, he pushed the pilot's condition to the back of his mind.

"Arfore, try to access the facility's main database from here. Find out if the blueprints Anders gave us match the actual schematics of the place. Then try to find out how many prisoners the Empire is keeping here."


	30. Chapter 30

Part 30

"General Dræ! Sir!"

Vaelik Dræ, War Minister for Rebel Alliance Command, stopped and turned, seeing Major Anders of Alliance Intelligence, rushing along the corridor towards him. He frowned, moving to meet her, "Major?"

Reaching him, keeping her voice low, she told him, "We've had word from Möerdaast. The situation is critical. We need to move quickly."

Möerdaast: the penal facility where Antilles and the Diazez man, Nabrood, were being held. The Alliance had sent in an agent under the guise of an ISB officer to gauge the situation and ascertain the viability of a rescue mission. As rescue was obviously a possibility, but time critical. Dræ turned to his aide, ordering, "My compliments to Chief of Staff Ambella, Lieutenant. Ask her to join us in Major Anders' office."

"At once, Sir," the Lieutenant acknowledged.

"Ask Admiral Ackbar, General Madine and Major Derlin to join us, too, Lieutenant," Anders added.

"Yes, Ma'am," he confirmed, turning and hurrying away.

"What do we know?" Dræ asked, nodding down the corridor, indicating that they should walk.

"Antilles and Nabrood were injured in a tunnel collapse," the Major supplied as they headed for her office. "They've received medical attention, but not much. And Antilles is fragile. The mindwipe has gone deeper than we feared. He has little memory of who he is. He reacted badly to ISB uniform. He had to be sedated."

Dræ muttered a curse under his breath. That didn't bode well.

"There's been another development," Anders went on. "A search of the facility's files has thrown up some names we've been searching for: other political prisoners. It appears that part of the facility's mainframe is compartmented," she explained. "It isn't spliced into the Imperial network, which is why the names never appeared on any of our searches."

Dræ considered that for a long moment before asking, "Can we get them all out?"

"That's exactly what is being proposed, Sir," Anders confirmed.

There was something in the tone of Anders' voice that made Dræ ask, "Are you talking about the Alliance-associated prisoners... or all of the prisoners?"

"All of them, Sir," Anders confirmed.

Dræ took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He ran his hand over his face, taking in the enormity of what she was saying. "How many are we talking about, Major?"

"Four hundred thirty-two in the Möerdaast facility, General..."

Dræ stopped walking, looking at her. "Is... Is that even viable?"

Anders turned, "That's what we need to find out, Sir. There were more than four hundred on Merivian," she pointed out. "We brought out all but two... who are on their way here as we speak."

"We had time," Dræ reminded her, "We had forewarning."

"Accepted, Sir... But we do have someone on the inside," Anders countered.

Dræ nodded then started walking again, "So all we need is a plan..."

Dropping into step beside the General, Anders began, "The facility can be blinded, cut off from the outside. Then we go in for the rescue."

"Which all sounds deceptively simple," Dræ thought aloud. Then he asked, "What about the Diazez man?"

"Those are some of the details we'll need to work out, Sir," Anders admitted. She paused then continued, "There's more, Sir…"

"Go on."

"The Möerdaast files indicate that two of the pilots believed to have been killed during the attack on the Bilbringi shipyards were, in fact, captured," she told him. "They were sentenced to Möerdaast, but the facility went on blue alert and the pilots were redirected to another facility. The system was never updated. I'm cross-referencing all the information available to us to try to find them."

Dræ considered that for a long moment, then asked her, "How do you want to proceed on this, Major?"

"In order to protect the Diazez Cartel," Anders offered, "since they provided the information on where Antilles was being held, I was going to propose simultaneous, diversionary assaults on at least two, other facilities. If we can locate the missing pilots, if a rescue is viable and if we can put together a mission in time, we should bring them out at the same time as we hit Möerdaast..."

oo0oo

Dressed in her finest robes, Jenniya stood on the bottom step of the grand staircase. The early-morning sun flooded in through the windows, bathing the entrance hall in a warm, golden glow and sending shards of rainbow-coloured lighting dancing through the chandeliers. In an unprecedented show of cohesion and of welcome, the other Chieftains of the Diazez Cartel waited on the staircase behind their Manwah.

Three, veiled figures walked up the stone steps, moving into the entrance hall and walking towards the Diazez ruling council.

The Rebel Alliance envoys stopped in front of Jenniiya, bowing deeply.

"Rise, friends," Jenniiya told them. "We welcome you and extend Diazez hospitality and protection to you. You are as brothers and sisters to us. You are safe within these walls."

The envoys straightened then one of them stepped forward. "The Alliance to Restore the Republic gives thanks for your welcome and your protection," a deep, baritone voice told her. The man removed his veil, introducing, "I am Colonel Ledick Firest, appointed by Mon Mothma to act as Secor in accordance with Diazez custom."

Jenniiya smiled, "I bid you welcome, Colonel Ledick Firest." She turned, indicating a tall, well-built man standing to the side. "Our Secor, Barylo Abujinn."

Ledick looked across at the man, inclining his head, telling him, "Ranna Sahj speaks highly of you, Secor. I am honoured."

Barylo bowed, remembering the beautiful, dark-haired Rebel agent who had risked her life coming to Gehndaaria to take her people home: who had assured him that there would be a place for him and for Nabrood within the Rebel Alliance. "Ranna Sahj is most gracious."

A second of the Rebel entourage stepped forward. Pushing her veil back, letting it fall across her shoulders, she introduced, "I am Bana Breemu, appointed by Mon Mothma as Secretar in accordance with Diazez custom."

Jenniiya smiled again, nodding to her. She recognised the Alliance Secretar, by name if not by the images she had seen. Bana Breemu had been a Senator before Palpatine had dissolved the Senate. The woman's dark hair, however, was now silver, softening her face, lending her the look of a much-loved grandmother. "I bid you welcome, Bana Breemu."

She turned, indicating a slender, dark-haired woman who stepped forward, "Our Secretar, Lyn Areese."

Bana inclined her head, telling Lyn, "Our people speak highly of you, Secretar. I am honoured."

Lyn bowed. "They are most gracious. I trust Aksha and Skywalker are now well?" she asked.

"They gain strength every day," Bana assured her.

Jenniiya turned her attention to the third member of the entourage, wondering if she would know anything of the final, Rebel envoy.

The third Rebel lifted the veil from her head. Jenniiya recognised her immediately. Only her years of training allowed her to keep the surprise from showing on her face.

"I am Mon Mothma of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. I am most honoured to stand before you, and humbled by the Diazez Cartel's decision to seek a treaty with our people."

Jenniiya sensed the wave of surprise that swept through the Chieftains as they realised that the Rebel Alliance had sent not just an envoy, but the head of their Clan. It was a tribute that none of them had expected. Not since the early days of the Diazez had a Chieftain personally initiated negotiations.

Stepping down onto the marbled floor, Jenniiya moved towards Mothma, a bright, gracious smile on her face. Tradition demanded that the Manwah present a Chieftain with a blade on their first meeting, as a mark of respect, to honour their courage. Not having expected Mothma herself to come, the only things resembling a knife that Jenniiya wore, were the long, thin, blade-like pins that held her hair in place.

Reaching up, drawing them free, her hair falling down around her shoulders, she presented them on open palms to Mothma, telling her, "You honour the Diazez by your presence. We gladly offer you a token of our respect and a mark of our protection."

Mothma bowed, accepting them. Unsure whether or not she should give a gift in return but knowing that it was etiquette in most societies, she took a chance, asking Jenniiya softly, "Is it acceptable to bestow a gift in response, Manwah?"

"It is, and most welcome," Jenniiya confirmed.

Smiling, closing her fingers around the pins, Mon floundered briefly, wondering what in the galaxy she had to give the Manwah. Then, remembering from Major Anders' briefing that the veils she, Bana and the Colonel wore were an ancient Gehndaarian custom of protection, she tucked the pins into her belt and lifted the long length of intricately embroidered, jewelled cloth from her shoulders.

Offering it, open palmed, to Jenniiya, she told her, "Your protection is gladly received and I offer this as a token of the protection which the Alliance hopes to bestow upon the Diazez Cartel. It was a gift from General Vaelik Dræ, Secor of the Ruling Council of the Alliance to Restore the Republic."

Jenniiya grinned, taking the veil, telling Mon, "It is beautiful and I thank you." She paused, looking from the veil, to Bana, to Mothma before remarking, "Secor Dræ has a rather festive eye…"

Mon Mothma chuckled at the comment, finally beginning to relax into her role. She glanced at Bana, who was also smiling, then looked back at the Manwah, telling her, "It is a beautiful piece, but I admit to preferring less jewels…"

Grinning, placing the veil over her hair, leaving her face uncovered, Jenniiya offered, "You must be weary from your journey. Shall you rest awhile before meeting our Chieftains?"

"Manwah," Mon assured her, "I believe as you: that matters concerning the safety of our peoples come before any personal discomfort. I ask only water, or kaffin, or cha…"

"Hi! Hi!" a voice agreed from the staircase. "Chieftain Mothma speaks true! A round of kaffin would be well received by all!"

A murmur of shock swept around the assembled Chieftains at Takeil Ashaanai's lapse in decorum.

"Ashaanai," another Chieftain derided softly, uncomfortable with the man's lack of etiquette in front of honoured guests, "have you no shame?"

"Our regrets, Chieftain Mothma," Derwhen Kenwa apologised. "Our youngest counterpart recently lost his manners in an altercation with a gahlen."

Takeil shot a grin at Kenwa, countering, "It was a good trade-off for my life, Uncle!"

Mon stepped forward, smiling at the Diazez leaders. "I have heard of Chieftain Ashaanai's encounter and his hunting prowess. It was a story heard many times, from many sources, on our journey here. The ship's crew tell me that he dispatched the beast with his bare hands."

A murmur of gently mocking comments and soft laughter swept across the Chieftains. Takeil took it all in good part, bowing his head, assuring Mothma, "The story grows far beyond reality, dear lady. If not for luck, I would not stand before you."

Mothma returned his smile. "Then the Force favoured you that day."

Jenniiya motioned to Barylo and Lyn, who moved from their positions to join Firest and Breemu.

"Come," she invited. "Let us drink kaffin while I make the Chieftains known to you."

oo0oo

Haniff-Brin Aksha groaned softly, easing himself into one of the seats in the pilot's lounge.

"Don't sit down, buddy," Hobbie warned. "You'll never get up again!"

"I'm too sore to care!" Brin told him.

"What I wouldn't give for a long soak in a nice, warm bath," Alissha put in, flopping down onto the sofa.

"There were hot springs near my home," Lainey reminisced, sinking onto the sofa beside Alissha. "Even with snow on the ground, you could immerse yourself in decadently warm water..." She sighed, longingly, "Your skin would be so soft when you came out..."

Chuckling, Brin peeled off his gloves, quipping, "Hobbie likes nice, soft skin."

"Baby-soft hands, that's our Hobbie!" Alissha teased.

"Hey!" Hobbie protested, "what is this? Abuse-the-most-talented-pilot hour?"

"Then why would we be abusing you?" Alissha asked, deadpan.

"Yeah," Brin agreed. "We'd be abusing Skywalker!"

Stopping dead at the door, Luke looked from Brin, to Alissha, to Hobbie. "Who'd be abusing Skywalker?"

"We would!" Alissha told him, fixing him with a glare, "For volunteering us to lay floor racking! My back's never going to be the same!"

"All of our skill, dexterity and battle readiness," Hobbie accused, "and you volunteer us for manual labour!"

"Floor racking's important!" Luke countered with the quirk of an eyebrow. "Would you rather have Princess Leia or General Rieekan landing on their backsides while walking the corridors?"

Hobbie groaned, rolling his eyes. "Always below the belt, Boss," he accused. "Every single time!"

"What about the Wookiee..." Lainey put in. "I mean, he's huge... If he fell..."

"Not to mention Solo throwing a tantrum about it," Brin agreed, "and chewing out both the Princess and Rieekan for unsafe footing!"

"The Princess would stick him in irons," Alissha put in, a slow smile pulling at her lips. "Between you and me, guys, I think she's had just about enough of him."

"He had dinner with Nejes again last night," Hobbie supplied.

"Well… he's a good-looking bloke..."

The other pilots all looked at Lainey. "He is!" she defended. "Doesn't mean I'd have dinner with him, though!"

"Nope," Hobbie quipped, winking at her. "Lainey's more into crashball team captains."

The pilot grinned. "Now, he was a definite cutie."

"And cute always wins over handsome!" Alissha agreed.

Lainey's grin widened, "Every time!"

Brin looked from them, to Hobbie, to Luke. "I think," he commented, "we've just been relegated."

Luke chuckled. "I think I'm happy about that."

"Well, I'm not happy," Hobbie accused, "about my poor, overstrained, back muscles!"

"Your overstrained back muscles will be just fine," Luke told him. "It's pipe rigging tomorrow, not floor racking! Now hit the fresher while I arrange some food and kaffin!"

"Kaffin," Alissha smiled. "I'd kill for a kaffin, Boss!"

"Then move!" Luke told her. He looked around the others. "All of you! Now! That's an order!"

Brin, Lainey and Alissha pushed themselves to their feet as Hobbie turned. Groaning and muttering, they all moved down the corridor towards their billets. Luke watched them, shaking his head. They were all exhausted but, as far as he was concerned, that was a good thing. After the hard graft they'd all done, none of them would have any trouble sleeping.

It was what they needed. Good, honest, exhausting, hard work that kept their minds off of Wedge... at least for a little while.

Shaking his head, Luke turned towards the door. He'd find Threepio, arrange for food to be brought in to the lounge again. And then see if he could track down Leia and find out if there was any news on Wedge.

As he walked out into the hangar, he glanced across at the Falcon, finding himself wondering if Specialist Nejes would be gracing Han and Chewie's table with her presence for dinner again.

oo0oo

"Colonel Freyh's information confirms that the layout of the facility is exactly the same as the plans we have," Elhen Anders reported. "The tunnels were never mapped, but Freyh will arrange that none of the prisoners are on work detail."

"Do we have any idea how he plans to achieve that?" Bren Derlin asked.

Anders nodded, confirming, "It's a volcanic planet. The facility continually monitors the lava situation in order to give them warning of any event that might require them to evacuate. There's recently been some significant movement, causing tremors which sparked tunnel collapses. Other tunnels have been quarantined because of xylpher fires. Freyh has introduced a programming change in the main computer that will give false indications and push the alert status to blue. That should result in all personnel and prisoners being confined to the facility."

"So they'll call for evac and we'll arrive first," Crix Madine surmised.

"No," Anders countered. "We can't run the risk of them actually evacuating the facility to wait for the capital ships to arrive, so the alert will never escalate. However Colonel Freyh will ensure that the secondary sensors malfunction so they'll be able to see, but not identify, the ships that drop in…"

"And think the Empire's turned up anyway..." Derlin concluded. "I like it."

"Over four hundred prisoners," Ackbar ventured, "How do we plan to get them off Möerdaast?"

"The facility has ten evacuation shuttles, kept in readiness to take the Imperials off-planet," Anders told him. "That, however, presents us with a problem, in that the hangar space is limited. We will only be able to get one ship in to begin with..."

"So we get our people into the facility to secure it," Madine thought aloud. "Then we can release the prisoners, get them to the shuttles and fly them to the support ship..."

"Yes, Sir. And the support ship for Möerdaast will be the Home One," Anders supplied.

"Do we have any information on how many people the Imperial shuttles will carry?" Ackbar asked.

"They're standard Lambda Class T-4a shuttles, Sir," Elhen confirmed. "With just a pilot aboard, we could get thirty-five to forty human-sized prisoners on each of them at a push, especially since it's a short-haul flight to the Home One."

"So, we need at least two, other ships..."

"Three would be better, Sir," Anders told Ackbar. "Forty humans on a T-4a shuttle will be standing-room only, which will cause problems if the pilots need to make any untoward manoeuvres... And if there's anything larger than a human, we'll not get everyone aboard."

"Which brings us neatly to a Command decision that, with Mon Mothma not present, we must ask you to make, Admiral," General Dræ announced.

In accordance with Alliance edict, a minimum of three Command staff were required to make Command decisions. In the event of Mothma, her War minister or her Chief of Staff not being present, the next, highest-ranking officer, would step in. That duty now fell on Ackbar.

"I am at your disposal, General," the Admiral confirmed.

"As you know, Admiral," Riona Ambella began, "in order to protect Echo Base, we refused Major Torshan's request to go into Möerdaast. And the Princess Leia was ruled out of a subsequent mission for the same reasons."

"However," General Dræ continued, "due to the height restrictions in the Möerdaast hangar, we have only four ships at our disposal to use on that mission. Two of those ships are currently in Echo Base... Also," he went on, "with assaults on two other penal facilities being proposed, we have pilots sitting, doing nothing, in Echo Base..."

"The decision we must reach," Riona told the Admiral, indicating him, herself and Dræ, "is this: do we risk the success of the Möerdaast mission by using only two ships, or do we risk jeopardising the safety of Echo Base by bringing in one of the ships and the pilots based there?"

Ackbar nodded, making a small sound of contemplation deep in his throat. "I see..."

He flowed to his feet, moving across Elhen's office to look out of the durasteel window at the stars beyond.

Riona glanced across at Dræ.

She was torn in her own decision. If the Möerdaast mission was a success, it would be an important victory for the Alliance. It would not only embarrass the Emperor, but would rescue several, significant, Alliance-loyal figures who, until very recently, had been thought lost.

However, if the Möerdaast mission was compromised, if any of the Echo Base pilots were captured, then with no serviceable defences, Hoth would have to be abandoned before the base was even completed. The chances of the pilots being captured were slim, but Riona and Dræ would have been negligent in their duties as Senior Command staff if they hadn't considered it.

At the window, Ackbar turned, walking back to the table. Sinking into his seat, he looked from Dræ to Ambella. "General, Councillor," he told them, "I agree completely with the reasoning behind the proposed attack on the Möerdaast penal facility. It is my opinion that there is no point in doing so without a full commitment. We use the Echo Base ships and personnel."

Dræ looked from the Admiral to the Chief of Staff, "Then we are agreed."

Riona Ambella nodded, confirming, "We are agreed."

"Major," Dræ ordered, looking at Elhen Anders, "continue your briefing."

"Sir," she acknowledged, beginning, "The Millennium Falcon is one of the fastest, most manoeuvrable ships at our disposal. Assuming that Captain Solo and his first mate agree, it will easily accommodate Major Derlin's strike team and the shuttle pilots."

Derlin nodded, offering, "I think they will be amenable, Major. They know Antilles. And," he added, "if the Lieutenant Commander is as badly injured as Colonel Freyh reports, a friendly face would be a bonus."

"There will be more than one friendly face," Anders told him, "The Imperials may have replaced Yolan Nabrood with one of their own agents in order to monitor Antilles. The only insurance we have against that are Commander Skywalker and his pilots. They are the only people who can confirm the Diazez man's identity. They'll be going into Möerdaast with you. They'll fly the shuttles out."

"The success of the mission relies heavily on the ability of Colonel Freyh to blind and mute the Möerdaast facility," Dræ commented. "If either of those factors are compromised, or if he fails, the Falcon could be trapped inside the hangar... or not get in to begin with."

"There is a remote release for the hangar doors, Sir," Elhen told him. "It's a failsafe in the event that the base is compromised by lava and the electrics or the main computer are taken out."

"I've worked with Solo and Chewbacca before," Derlin put in. "They've proven pretty adept at getting out of tricky situations before."

"Their last escape from a high-security, Imperial facility was achieved only at the cost of General Kenobi's life," the Chief of Staff reminded Derlin. "Getting out of Möerdaast could be at the cost of your own..."

Bren Derlin met her gaze calmly. "That is a price that I, and my strike team, are willing to pay, Ma'am. Although," he smiled, "we'll do our best to avoid it."

General Dræ considered Derlin for a long moment. Then he leant forward, clasping his hands on the table. "Major," he began, softly, "none of the names on the list of prisoners are associates of Senator Derlin's."

Sadness and anger washed across Derlin's face at mention of his father: a man who had worked for peace all his life; who had withdrawn from politics rather than side with either the Emperor or the Alliance; who had still died at the hands of Palpatine's assassins.

Bren Derlin had inherited little of his father's nature, though. He was a soldier, from a long line of soldiers on his mother's side. He appreciated the General's candour, but the pragmatist in him hadn't expected any of his father's friends to be on the list.

"I know enough of Möerdaast," he assured Dræ, "to realise that if any of the people my father knew were sent there, they would be dead by now, Sir... But, thank you."

Ackbar brought everyone's focus back to the briefing, asking, "What of the other assaults, Major Anders? What facilities are to be targeted?"

"Orinackra," Anders supplied. "The southern-most facility there. We've received information that two pilots - missing, presumed dead, since the Bilbringi shipyards attack - are still alive and incarcerated there…" She paused, then corrected, "Or, at least, they were four months ago."

The hairs were standing up on the back of Crix Madine's neck. He had personal knowledge of being a prisoner in the main facility on Orinackra. It wasn't a place he had ever planned to visit again, but he had a sudden, sickening feeling that he might just be about to do exactly that. Stomach twisting, he asked, "I take it my people will be cracking that particular nut?"

Anders looked at him, confirming, "It felt... appropriate… Sir."

Madine nodded. "Well, I did leave without a proper goodbye..." He paused then asked, "Will the evac be the same as Möerdaast: we bring everyone out?"

"The information indicates less than sixty prisoners in that part of the facility, Sir," Anders supplied.

Madine nodded again. "We bring them all out, then."

He thought for a moment then offered, "We should get away with a smash-and-grab, especially if the pilots aren't being held the main facility. The place is so vast... If we go in high-speed and then stay beneath their sensors, they'll have no idea which section we're hitting. Our biggest problem will be time: getting in and out before reinforcements arrive."

"You'll be supported by both the Liberty and the Organa," Elhen told him. "They'll have T-65s and B-wings at their disposal."

_A cruiser, a frigate and two fighter squadrons_, Madine considered. That ought to be enough to buy some time if things took longer than planned.

"Other than that, Sir," Anders went on, "the Orinackra mission design will be yours."

"I'll bring in Colonel Linth," Madine told her. "He's best placed to lead this one. We'll put the final draft to you for approval," he told her.

Anders nodded, "Thank you, Sir."

"What of the third mission, Major?" Ackbar asked.

"That will be a diversionary attack only," she replied. "The Tarkin Detention Facility on Ruul. We will send in fighters and a support ship, but they will break off and retreat when Imperial reinforcements arrive."

oo0oo

Vader knelt in silence. The power of the Dark Side of the Force washed around him, fed by his anger… but the clarity of meditation eluded him. Thoughts tumbled through his head.

None of his endeavours to find out where Antilles and the Diazez traitor were being held had been successful. Palpatine had hidden them well and he would not risk the Emperor's displeasure, or the possibility of being recalled to Coruscant, by testing the man's patience any further.

He had already been reminded of his place: reminded that, alone, he was no match for the power Palpatine wielded.

In his arrogant self-assuredness, however, Palpatine had forgotten one, very important thing. In the beginning, even Palpatine had not had the power to act alone. Without Vader, the Jedi Temple would not have been so easily destroyed; the Jedi would have rallied and, backed by the Jedi, Palpatine's opponents would have had the strength to openly oppose him. Without Vader, Palpatine would not have stayed absolute ruler of the galaxy for long.

With his son at his side, Vader would be in a position to usurp Palpatine's authority. Together, he and Luke would forge the Empire that he had envisioned two decades ago, the Empire he had thought about every time the dark, brown depths of Padme's eyes had looked back at him in those stolen moments on Coruscant.

Antilles now lay out with his reach, but Vader had no doubt that another opportunity would present itself to lure his son to him. He need only be patient.

Patience was not something Vader had whole-heartedly embraced before: but for his son, and for their new Empire, he knew he would have no choice but to cultivate it. Moving too soon, acting before the time was right, would bring his vision crashing down around him.

Rising to his feet, Vader summoned a target drone and reached for his lightsabre. The weapon always centred him; grounded him; reminding him of who he was and everything he had done in the name of the man he had bowed before, and an Empire he had adopted as his own.

It was a long time since he had trained with it. If he was to train his son in its use, he could no longer be so remiss.


	31. Chapter 31

Part 31

The effects of the tranquiliser had worn off and Antilles was conscious... but there was no recognition in his eyes. Nabrood had turned the Rebel onto this side and lain on the floor beside him, talking to him, telling him stories of the great victories of the Diazez and the courage of the most honoured warriors, just as he had done that first night when they had been thrown into the cell and left in darkness.

In the hours that Nabrood had been talking, and during the bouts of coughing that had wracked up from Nabrood's lungs and left him fighting to breathe, Antilles had given no sign that he understood, or even heard. Nabrood's concern had deepened into worry.

Antilles had endured much. He had been badly injured, tortured to the limits of his endurance, brain-washed then forced to stand in front of the entire galaxy and denounce his friends as traitors and terrorists. He had been left traumatised: bewildered by half-truths and lies, confused by suppressed memories. On their first day in this cell he hadn't even known who he was.

The xylpher fire in the mines had changed that. It was as if the incident had opened a door in Antilles' memory. He had remembered fragments of who he was; what he was; the men and women he had fought alongside… There were many things he had still not been able to recall, but there had been renewed strength behind his eyes.

And Nabrood had found the tables turned. Antilles had not only saved him from the burning xylpher in the mine, but had then tried to protect him. It was a debt that Nabrood would venerate until his last breath. By Diazez law, they were now family: kinsmen. Their family lines would now be intertwined down the ages and Nabrood was honoured to call him 'brother'.

The strength that Antilles had found that day in the mine, however, was no longer present. The agent, sent into the prison by the Rebels, had expressed concern at Antilles reaction to the ISB uniform he had worn.

_He didn't react well to seeing me…_

Nabrood was now beginning to believe that the meeting had caused Antilles severe trauma. He suspected that, in trying to assure him of rescue, his own people had unwittingly ripped away the fragile lucidity that had been slowly returning.

Nabrood understood that there were limits to what could be endured. He had never been tested beyond his breaking point but, in the service of the Cartel and the Manwah, there had been times where only his oath of allegiance had stopped him begging for death. The scars on his body were testament to that.

Antilles, however, had been pushed past anything Nabrood had had to suffer.

The cell door opened, admitting a stormtrooper commander and a regular stormtrooper. "On your feet!"

Nabrood complied, rolling onto his knees and pushing himself up as the soldiers moved towards him.

"On your feet, scum!" the commander repeated, looking down at Antilles.

"He's sick," Nabrood tried.

Irritated by the Rebel's lack of response, the commander aimed a kick at Antilles' stomach. Nabrood acted on instinct, moving to protect the Rebel. The stormtrooper intervened, swinging his rifle around, slamming the butt into the side of Nabrood's head.

Pain and light exploded. Nabrood stumbled sideways, stunned, crumpling to the floor.

Dazed, he tried to push himself up... then collapsed, unconscious, as a stun charge hit him in the back. The trooper stood for a moment, blaster aimed at the Gehndaarian, making sure he stayed down.

Beside him, the commander kicked Antilles again, "On your feet!"

When the Rebel failed to respond, the trooper stepped away from Nabrood, helping his commander to haul the Rebel off the floor. When they let him go, he stayed upright. Irritation sparking into anger, convinced that Antilles was playing them, the commander turned, backhanding the Rebel across the face. "Traitorous scum!"

Antilles staggered back, hitting the cell wall, collapsing down it onto the floor. He made no sound. He lay where he landed, against the wall, blood flowing down his chin from his mouth.

The commander laughed: a short, cold sound. "That'll teach him." He moved towards Antilles, ordering, "Let's get him upstairs! The Major's waiting."

oo0oo

"Han?"

The sound of Leia's voice pulled an involuntary smile onto the Corellian's lips and pushed a small lurch through his chest. It was a now-familiar reaction, something he'd first felt at the medal ceremony back on Yavin, when she'd fixed him with that haughty look… which had melted into a wide, beautiful smile. He had found himself grinning back at her, like a nervous teenager. She'd looked so damned gorgeous, and regal, and radiant.

Until that moment, she'd been an associate, someone fate had thrown into his path, more Luke's friend than his... but right then, when she'd smiled at him, everything had changed.

He'd found himself wondering what it would be like to slip his arm around her waist, draw her close and kiss her, gently, on the lips... And afterwards, at the reception, when she'd laid her hand on his arm, stood on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek, he'd found himself grinning inanely again as he breathed in her perfume and the scent of her hair...

Not that he stood a chance: she was a daughter of the Royal House of Alderaan and he was a smuggler, a mercenary...

_I wonder if he really cares about anything... or anyone_.

All she cared about, he'd quickly found out, was the Rebel Alliance. There was no room in her life for anything, or anyone, else. He told himself that was why he took such delight in baiting her: that, and her starchy attitude... but tormenting her wasn't giving him half as much enjoyment as he'd expected it would. And that was annoying him, too.

Switching off the welding torch, he manoeuvred his way out of the access hatch and climbed to his feet, calling, "Back here, Princess!"

She appeared in the corridor ahead of him and he frowned as he moved towards her. She looked drawn and tired: frail, almost. Worry settled in the pit of his belly and irritation sparked through him: at her, for not taking care of herself, and at both Rieekan and McQuarrie for allowing her to work herself too hard.

"When was the last time you slept? Or ate?" he demanded.

He hadn't meant it to sound harsh, but his exasperation washed into his voice. He saw the anger cloud her face and cursed, silently. He opened his mouth to apologise, to tell her that he hadn't meant to sound angry... but she had already schooled her face into courteous indifference, drawing the shield of Rebel Leader around her.

Detached and coldly polite, she told him, "I'm here on behalf of Alliance Command to ask for your help: yours and Chewbacca's."

Han drew himself up to his full height, matching courteous indifference with irked impatience. "Really, your Royal Princess-ship? And what do Alliance Command need from us this time?"

Leia fought down a second rush of frustration at his dismissive, off-handed attitude. She considered turning and leaving, considered telling him that they didn't need his services after all. Instead, she took a deep breath, reminding herself of what was at stake: telling herself that he might be insufferable, but he was a talented pilot and had the fastest ship at their disposal.

Glancing behind her, to make sure that there was no-one there to overhear, she took a step towards the Corellian. "It concerns Lieutenant Commander Antilles."

Han's flippant attitude changed immediately. "Wedge?" he asked, tension roiling in his stomach. "Have you found him?"

Leia nodded, confirming, "We have."

"And you need our help to get him out?" Han concluded, tension turning to anticipation.

"We do," she confirmed.

Han moved past her, yelling, "Chewie! Chewie, get in here!"

The Wookiee rumbled a reply from outside the ship.

"Yeah?" Han answered, "Well, Leia and I need you in here, buddy!"

He looked at the Princess, "Where and when do you need us?"

"Major Torshan will brief you whenever you're ready," Leia told him.

Han nodded. Torshan was a good man. "Is he putting this thing together?"

She shook her head, supplying, "No, Major Derlin..."

"Derlin?" Han interrupted. "Bren Derlin?"

Leia nodded, "Yes. He and Major Anders are responsible for the mission plan."

"It might just work, then," Han told her, walking away from her towards Chewbacca, as the Wookiee appeared at the end of the corridor. "Chewie, they've found Wedge. They need our help to get him out. You up for it?"

The Wookiee roared a reply, turning and loping back the way he had come. Han grinned, looking back at Leia, "Looks like you've got yourself a ship, Princess."

oo0oo

Hobbie yawned, running his hand across his face. His belly was full, the kaffin pot was empty and his muscles were aching from the physical labour of the day. "I think," he announced, stretching and wincing, "I'm going to head to my billet."

"I wouldn't do that quite yet, if I was you," a voice announced from the door.

All five pilots shot to their feet, saluting smartly as the door closed behind Major Palo Torshan. "As you were," he ordered.

Luke didn't move: apprehension and expectation tightening in the base of his spine. None of the other pilots relaxed either, all of them aware that the Major's presence meant one of two things: either they were about to fly a mission, or Torshan was bringing news of Wedge Antilles.

Palo sensed the tension in the room and put the pilots out of their misery, coming straight to the point. "We know where Lieutenant Commander Antilles is. We're working on a plan to get him out and we need volunteers."

He smiled as all five pilots immediately, and enthusiastically, offered their services. "I had a feeling you'd say that. Grab your kit, including your side-arms, and head for the _Millennium Falcon_," he ordered. "There'll be an overview briefing in ten minutes, then you'll be leaving for the _Home One_."

"Major," Hobbie began, glancing at Luke and the others before looking back at Torshan, "no-one's told us anything since we got here... Do you know if..."

He paused, and then went on, "One of the Diazez men was arrested... Yolan Nabrood... Do you know what happened to him?"

Palo considered his words carefully before answering. He knew exactly what had happened to the Diazez man, but he hadn't been given clearance to share the information with anyone other than the Princess Leia. "Lieutenant," he began.

He knew he could lie, simply tell the pilots that he had no idea, but they deserved more than that and they would find out at the briefing on the _Home One_ anyway. He stopped, sighing, warning them, "This information is compartmentalised. I will deny that it came from me, do you understand?"

The pilots nodded, assuring him, "Yes, Sir."

"Nabrood is in the same penal facility as Antilles. The plan is to bring him out too."

oo0oo

The interrogation droid retreated, hovering a few steps away from the man swinging gently on the chains.

Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell moved toward Bail Organa as he moaned softly. She reached out, lifting his chin. He was barely conscious, his face and body bathed in sweat.

She wasn't going to be able to continue the interrogatory side of this session much longer. She was already pushing him further than she had planned. Getting to this point, however, had taken her longer than she had anticipated.

Despite his incarceration over the previous few years and the leanness of his frame, he had been physically fitter than she had expected. He had also undergone counter-interrogation training. That, in itself, hadn't been surprising: he had, after all, been a notable, political figure within the Senate. What had surprised her, however, was the obvious depth of his training.

It had all become clear, of course. The isolation and physical distress had taken their toll and, bit by bit, Organa had revealed just how involved he had been with the Rebel Alliance, right from its inception.

Leia Organa was not the politically-naive, pampered daughter of an Imperial Senator. Instead she was a traitorous brat, following in the seditious footsteps of her terrorist father. In arresting the Senator for the sins of his daughter, Palpatine had seized one of the founders of the Rebel Alliance.

There was much more lurking in the recesses of Organa's memory, and Ljana was determined to trawl the very depths of it. She had the time, she had the means, she had the Emperor's sanction to do so and she was resolved to unravelling every secret Organa had locked away in his mind.

For the moment, however, he was almost ready to go back into the isolation of tank.

"Bail, look at me!" she ordered.

There was no response.

"LOOK AT ME!" she barked.

The dark, brown eyes opened, focussing slowly on her.

Gently running the back of her fingers down his cheek, she told him, "Alderaan is dead. Mothma is dead. Your daughter is dead. Your Jedi hope, General Kenobi, is dead. The Alliance to Restore the Republic has lurched from defeat to defeat. Their cause is foundering..."

She paused, giving him time to process the information before continuing, "How many more need to die? You can stop this... Let me help you stop this..."

Exhausted, swamped by pain, hunger crawling through his insides, Bail looked back at her.

He had been forced to watch media reports of the destruction of his planet, of the death of the millions of people who had called Alderaan home. He had been forced to listen to audio streams of Imperial propaganda proclaiming the arrest of Mon Mothma and the crushing of the Rebel threat on Yavin. The Emperor, it appeared, was in almost-complete control of the galaxy. Only a few, terrorist cells continued to struggle futilely against the august might of the Empire.

Despite the evidence, Bail Organa refused to believe that; refused to accept it...

...because by Palpatine's own admission, the Alliance to Restore the Republic still lived. More than that, the Alliance had to be actively causing enough of a nuisance for Palpatine to, not only have kept him alive, but to have him dragged out of incarceration after almost three years of captivity, and tortured.

Bail knew what to do: he had been preparing for it since the day he had witnessed the stormtroopers cut down a young, Jedi boy during the routing of the Temple on Coruscant. The only question was how long he would have the strength to fight. He had given them information to delay the inevitable: facts and details that were decades old but that had bought him time.

Despite the toll the questioning was taking, he still had the will to resist. Swallowing, taking a ragged breath, he told the ISB officer, "Go to hell."

Ljana smiled, stepping back and turning away. "I have something I think you'll be very interested in," she told him, nodding to the other ISB officer.

Eyes closed, Bail didn't see the holographic image appear on the floor in front of him. It was the familiar, mechanical rasp of a respiration unit that caught his attention. For a brief moment he thought Castell was about to be replaced by Vader...

He lifted his head, opening his eyes, ready to greet Palpatine's Sith Lord: the executioner who had so bravely slaughtered Jedi children barely old enough to spell their own names.

"_And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base_."

The breath froze in Bail's lungs.

Instead of the man, he saw the recording. He recoiled in horror, closed his eyes in denial as the interrogation droid moved towards Leia... but he couldn't stop the sound, couldn't block out the screams as his beautiful, brave Leia endured everything he had just suffered... and more...

Guilt and grief flooded through him. He had done this to her. He had caused this. He had allowed her to be tortured, had allowed her to die at the hands of Vader...

_Her father..._

"No..."

Terror slammed clarity through him.

He couldn't think that! He couldn't allow himself to think that! Leia was dead, but if Vader found out about her brother, about Tatooine, then the freedom of the galaxy would be lost. Vader would hunt the young man down. Nothing would stand in his way. And without Kenobi, Luke would be defenceless. Vader would take him and train him, turn him to the Dark Side of the Force...

He had failed to protect Leia but he would not fail Luke… and to do that he needed to have his wits about him. He needed to be astute. He had to try to be one step ahead of Palpatine and his interrogation.

Ljana Castell watched the emotion play across Organa's face. She watched him collapse further into the chains. Looking across at the other officer, Ljana made a slashing motion across her neck with her hand. The recording flickered and stopped.

Organa moaned softly: just one word. "Leia..."

Smiling, Ljana motioned to the two stormtroopers who stood beside the door. "Cut him down. Put him in the tank."

oo0oo

The Rebel SpecForce Colonel rose to his feet, walking around the console as the door opened and the two white-armoured stormtroopers carried Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles into the room.

"Put him on the table!" Demaec ordered.

The stormtroopers did as they were instructed, manhandling Antilles over to the metal counter and laying him down on it. Demaec followed them, his eyes narrowing as he saw the swollen face, the blood on Antilles' chin and the mottled signs of bruising forming. He stepped closer as the stormtroopers moved back. Antilles' eyes were open, but there was nothing in them: no fear, no recognition, no anger…

There was anger in Demaec's eyes, however. Schooling his face back into superior disdain, he lifted his gaze, looking from the commander to the trooper. Antilles had suffered enough at the hands of the Empire and, this close to possible rescue, Demaec was damned if he was going to allow the pilot to endure any more. He was certainly not going to stand in front of Alliance Command and report that when he had been sent in, Antilles had been alive, but had died soon after at the hands of a sadistic bully.

He couldn't afford to make an enemy of the commander by berating him in public, however. That could cause even more problems. He looked at the trooper, ordering, "Out."

Both men turned. "Not you, commander."

The man stopped, turning back to his senior officer.

Demaec waited until the door closed behind the trooper before demanding, "Explain the prisoner's injuries!"

"He refused to comply with our orders, Sir," the commander told him, matter-of-factly.

"So you made him comply?"

"Yes, Sir," the man confirmed. Even through the voice-piece, Demaec could hear the genuine puzzlement in his tone.

"Was he being belligerent, or was he unable to comply?" Demaec demanded, voice dangerously quiet.

The commander recognised the threat and looked behind Demaec to the Rebel lying on the table. Turning his attention back to Demaec, the commander offered, "I told him to get up. He didn't move. When we lifted him up, he stayed on his feet. I believed he was trying to fool us."

Demaec took a step towards him. "And who gave you permission to punish the prisoner?"

"I…" the commander faltered.

"Are you aware of who this prisoner is?" Demaec demanded.

When there was no reply, Demaec offered, "Does the name Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles mean anything to you?"

The commander looked behind the white-uniformed officer to the Rebel. The name did mean something, and now that it was hanging there, in the air, between himself and the ISB Major, the commander realised that he did recognise the Rebel: from the media streams of only a few days before, when Antilles had, very publicly, denounced the Rebel Alliance and intimated that they would plunge the galaxy into civil war.

"The Emperor has taken a personal interest in Lieutenant Commander Antilles!" Demaec went on. "I was sent here to ensure his continued rehabilitation and to question him further about the Rebel Alliance. Now I find myself unable to do that, because you have knocked him senseless…"

Demaec paused, giving the commander time to take in the enormity of what had just been said. If that didn't stop the man laying hands on Antilles, nothing would. Turning away, moving back to Antilles, he ordered, "Get the medical officer! And do it quickly!"

oo0oo

Luke followed the other pilots out of the rec room, scanning the hangar as he walked towards the Millennium Falcon. The familiar squeal of an artoo unit pulled his attention towards the environmental doors. Threepio and Artoo were moving towards him and he changed direction, jogging over to them.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know," Threepio told Artoo in answer to the little droid's question. "No one ever tells us anything! Oh, Master Luke!" he continued as the pilot reached them, "Is the base being evacuated?"

"No, Threepio," Luke told him. "They've found Wedge and we're going to get him out."

Artoo burbled happily as Threepio agreed, "Oh! Oh, that is good news, Sir!"

Luke smiled, cautioning, "Yeah, well, we need to get him out first. Look, Threepio," he went on, "keep an eye on Leia while we're gone, will you? I'm worried about her…"

"Why, of course, Master Luke," Threepio assured him. "Artoo and I will be happy to look after her. If you don't mind my observation, Sir, I do believe she has lost weight since news arrived of your injury on…"

Artoo mewled and Threepio looked at him, countering, "Why shouldn't I mention that? Master Luke is already worried about her!"

"Hey! Skywalker!"

Luke turned, waving acknowledgement to Hobbie before looking back at the droids, "I'll see you when I get back."

"Do take care, Master Luke!"

"I will, Threepio," Luke assured him, turning and jogging away across the hangar towards the Falcon.

Artoo burbled a question and Threepio looked at him. "I don't know, Artoo," he admitted, "but I'm sure that they'll have Lieutenant Commander Antilles back to his old self in no time at all once they get him back... If they get him back…"


	32. Chapter 32

Part 32

"Lord Vader?"

The Dark Lord of the Sith turned, looking at Ozzel as the Admiral approached him.

"My Lord," Ozzel offered, "a communiqué was logged in the central database which pertains to Wedge Antilles. It is a few hours..."

"What does it say?" Vader interrupted, anticipation winding through his spine. They had found no information on Antilles or the Diazez traitor since leaving Coruscant.

Palpatine had made it perfectly clear that Antilles and Nabrood were no longer his concern and Vader had known better than to test the Emperor's patience by pushing too hard.

_You disobeyed my direct... and explicit... order! You have forgotten your place, Lord Vader!_

Palpatine's subsequent orders to hunt down two passenger liners, stolen from the Mon Calamari shipyards and now in the service of the Rebellion, had laid the way open for him to legitimately begin his search for the Rebels. They had found nothing, however... until now.

"The administrator of the penal facility on Möerdaast is protesting the lack of information concerning special orders relating to Antilles, my Lord," Ozzel supplied.

Möerdaast! Of course! The facility's prisoner details were not held on the main, Imperial database. He should have considered that before this. "Set course for Möerdaast, Admiral!"

Ozzel bowed, "At once, my Lord."

He turned to leave, but Vader stopped him, ordering, "Contact the facility. Find out if Yolan Nabrood is also there!"

He would question both Rebels again. The Diazez traitor, Nabrood, would tell him how contact had been initiated with the Rebels. As for Antilles, Vader acknowledged that the mindwipe may have destroyed any useful information Antilles had held, but he could be used for another purpose: drawing out Luke Skywalker.

oo0oo

Another tremor rippled through the Imperial penal facility on Möerdaast. Brigadier Derik Curzos put down his wine glass, dropping his feet to the floor and checking the status on his data screen to ensure that the alert hadn't heightened. The flag remained reassuringly blue.

It wasn't the first time that the facility had been on blue alert. This time, however, there was a difference.

Standing, he walked across to the viewport, looking out at the volcanic panorama in front of him. It was a view he normally enjoyed, especially at night when the magma sprayed in red/orange showers into the air. A deep-seated sense of unease was plaguing him, however, souring his belly to even the very expensive wine his daughter had sent him.

It had begun the moment that damned ISB officer had turned up without warning.

ISB had no requirement to pre-warn of their arrival but the officer's presence in the facility concerned a prisoner placed under Curzos' jurisdiction when Curzos, himself, had received no special orders or instructions. Add to that the Emperor's personal interest in Antilles and the very public exhibit that had been made of the Rebel, and all of it combined to give Curzos a distinctly uneasy feeling.

To interfere with ISB was unwise, but if Antilles died under questioning, Curzos knew that he would be held to account... and things would not go as easily for him as it would with the ISB officer.

It was one of the reasons that he had covered his back by risking protesting his lack of orders concerning Antilles.

The com unit chimed, breaking Curzos' train of thought. He moved to answer it, "Yes?"

"Brigadier," his aide told him, "a ship has dropped out of hyperspace and into synchronous orbit. We're having trouble with our secondary sensors, but the primary indicates that it's big enough to be a capital ship..."

"A star destroyer?" Curzos wondered out loud. There were no scheduled prisoner transfers that he was aware of.

"It's possible, Sir," the Lieutenant confirmed. "They're..."

The man trailed off, then announced, "Standby, Sir. We have voice communication."

Curzos waited, tension and irritation fluttering in his belly. Finally the Lieutenant confirmed, "It's the _Adjudicator_, Brigadier. They're sending a ship down..."

The _Adjudicator_ was the Star Destroyer that had transported Antilles and the other Rebel from Coruscant. It was possible that the ship was here in answer to his protest. It was also possible that the ship had returned to take Antilles back to Coruscant. Alternatively, it could have nothing to do with the Rebels at all, but Curzos' unease intensified. "Have them escorted to my office when they arrive, Lieutenant. And," he added as an afterthought, "have the Rebel prisoner Antilles brought to my office immediately!"

"Yes, Sir," the man confirmed.

Curzos sat down. If this was nothing to do with Antilles, he could simply have the man sent back to his cell. With the exact circumstances of the Adjudicator's arrival unknown, and with ISB hovering, instinct warned him that he should exert personal control over the prisoner.

The com unit chimed again.

"Yes?"

"Brigadier, a unit has already been dispatched to Antilles' cell. They have orders to take him to Major Freyh."

Curzos' patience broke. "The last time I looked," he snapped, "I was the administrator of this facility, not ISB! Have Antilles brought to me! Now!"

oo0oo

From the bridge of the _Home Two_, Admiral Ackbar watched as the _Millennium Falcon_ descended into the ionosphere of Möerdaast. The penal facility hadn't questioned their claim that they were the Star Destroyer _Adjudicator_ and, if everything was going to plan, the SpecOps agent, Freyh, would now have rendered the prison blind and deaf.

By the time the Imperials realised that the ships were Rebel Alliance, they would be unable to call for help.

"Sir, the other two ships have just dropped into normal space," his executive officer informed him.

"Thank you," Ackbar acknowledged. "Tell them to hold position and stand by for further orders."

"Aye, Sir."

Above Orinackra and Ruul, other Alliance ships would be dropping out of hyperspace and launching their own attacks. If the Force was with them and everything went to plan, Rebel Alliance personnel would be safely back in Alliance hands and heads would be rolling within the Imperial palace within just a few hours.

Part of him wanted to be there, on Coruscant, just to see Palpatine's face when he was informed.

"Sir? The _Falcon_ reports that the hangar doors are open and they'll be landing shortly."

"Thank you, Commander," Ackbar acknowledged. "Inform the other ships. And launch the fighters."

oo0oo

On the flight deck of the _Falcon_, Bren Derlin stood up, "Better get my teams ready."

Chewie threw a comment over his shoulder at Derlin as Han glanced back at him, warning, "Watch your back, Major!"

Derlin grinned at him, "I will." He turned towards the corridor, then stopped, looking back at Solo and Chewbacca. "Don't go anywhere without me!"

"And blow any chance of winning that money back from you?" Han shot back. "Not likely!"

Derlin laughed, mocking, "Yeah, right!" before heading out of the flight deck.

"Damned Tissheraan hustler!" Han groused, good-naturedly. "Easy, Chewie," he went on. "Slow it up so we can get a good look at that hangar."

Chewie rumbled a question and Han shrugged, "I'm sure Major Anders' info is fine, buddy, but it doesn't hurt to make sure."

Chewbacca manoeuvred the _Falcon_ carefully through the open hangar doors, turning the ship slowly, giving Han time to give the place a good once over before settling the ship on the ground. "No reception committee, at least," Han commented, pushing himself to his feet. "And the shuttles are here. Drop the ramp, Chewie."

He headed out of the flight deck, moving quickly through the ship to where Derlin and his strike units were waiting.

"No reception committee," he told them.

"Thank you, Captain," Derlin acknowledged, waited until the ramp was fully deployed, then nodding to the strike team. They moved out, running down the ramp.

Derlin grinned at Han, accusing, "I'm no hustler, Solo! You're just a sore loser!" before following the teams down the ramp. They ran across the hangar, past the line of shuttles, towards the entry hatch. He paused, counting to three before giving the command to go through into the facility.

The corridor beyond was empty. They moved down it, stopping when they came to a junction. Splitting up into the four, different, strike units, they headed off on their predetermined routes.

Derlin turned left, following 'Aurek': the unit heading for Demaec Freyh's location. If everything had gone to plan, the SpecOps Colonel would be waiting with Wedge Antilles and the Diazez man. While Aurek escorted Antilles and Nabrood back to the Falcon, he and Freyh would head for the command centre, which 'Forn' should have secured.

Resh and Usk units were moving deeper into the facility, to take control of both of the prisoner cell levels.

So far, none of the units had encountered resistance, but Derlin knew it was only a matter of time. Freyh would have done what he could but it would have been impossible for him to secure every stormtrooper behind a locked door.

The unit turned left, moving towards the repulsor lift at the end of the corridor. The door opened at their approach and they moved inside, dropping to one knee, blasters held ready as Derlin announced, "Level three."

The doors closed, the lift moving up.

As the lift slowed, Derlin brought his blaster up. The doors cracked open... and the strike unit shot the two stormtroopers who started to move into the lift. The stormtroopers landed on the floor before they'd even recognised that the Rebel unit was there.

Derlin stepped over the bodies, moving down the corridor. Behind him, two of the strike team stayed to secure the lift while the others followed Derlin. Bren counted the doors, finally coming to a halt.

"Chameleon, this is Viper. Knock-knock!" he announced over his comlink, using the codenames allocated to Freyh and himself for the mission.

There was a few seconds' delay then the door slid open. An ISB officer stood on the other side, blaster held ready. He grinned, welcoming, "Major," before stepping back.

"Colonel," Derlin acknowledged, moving inside. The strike unit stayed in the corridor.

"We have a problem," Freyh began.

"So I see," Derlin replied. There was only one other person in the room and it wasn't Antilles.

"Brigadier Curzos countermanded my orders," Freyh supplied. "He had Antilles taken up to his office."

Derlin swore, softly but succinctly. "We best go get him, then. First, however..." He turned, looking at the other man in the room.

Tall, dark-haired and well-built, his body and face bore both old scarring and recent bruising. One side of his face was swollen and Derlin suspected that the full extent of the bruising had yet to come out.

"Secor Nabrood," he told the Diazez man, "my unit will take you to safety. You have friends waiting for you."

Nabrood pushed himself to his feet, looking from one Rebel officer to the other. He had tried to protest when Freyh had told him about the Alliance SpecOps unit on the way to take him to safety. Freyh, however, had simply reminded him that he was in no shape to argue and that, although it would be easier for him to walk, the soldiers would carry him if necessary.

Nabrood had tried to argue, but his chest had closed on him, prompting a fit of coughing that had left him fighting to breathe. The reminder that he was not physically fit had forced Nabrood to concede that the Rebel was right. In his present state of health he was a liability. He had agreed to do what Freyh asked.

"Friends?" he asked now.

"Skywalker, Hobbie, Aksha, Downhigher and Callan," Derlin supplied.

Concern flooded through Nabrood. "But… why are they here?" he asked.

Derlin grinned, "We needed someone to fly the rescue shuttles. They volunteered."

Nabrood started to smile, but winced instead as his bruised face protested. "Then they should not be kept waiting," he told Derlin, moving towards the door.

Derlin followed, ordering, "Sergeant, get this man back to the _Falcon_."

"Yes, Sir," she acknowledged, looking from him to the Diazez man. "Secor Nabrood, come with us, please."

As the strike unit moved in around Nabrood and headed back down the corridor, Derlin turned back, activating his throat mike, reporting, "Control, this is Viper. King Eagle has been extracted. Lost Bird not located."

There was a moment's silence then a voice crackled in his earpiece, "Viper, copied. Request intent?"

Derlin looked at Freyh.

"Control, this is Chameleon," Freyh announced. "Lost Bird's location is known. We're still a go for extraction."

"Copied, Chameleon," the disembodied voice confirmed.

Derlin checked his timepiece. If things elsewhere were running to plan, the second strike unit should have the facility's command centre secured within the next few minutes. Almost on cue, a voice crackled over his earpiece. "Control, this is Forn! Command Centre secured."

"Curzos' office is next to the Command Centre," Freyh told Derlin, heading for the door. His Arfour unit trundled after him.

A klaxon began to blare and both men swore. The Rebel presence in the facility had obviously been discovered. It was cancelled almost immediately, but Derlin and Freyh knew that the damage was done.

"I locked most of the stormtroopers down," Freyh confirmed, breaking into a run as they headed towards the repulsorlift, "but there were still a few milling around... I better take lead..."

"That uniform could get you shot by our people," Derlin countered, "I'm wearing body armour. You're not!"

Freyh grinned at him, "Stormtroopers shoot first... then ask questions!"

"Point taken," Derlin conceded. "You have the lead."

"Control," another voice crackled over the comlink as the repulsorlift door opened, "Resh Unit has secured Prisoner Level two. Resistance encountered. One Resh down. Request med-evac!"

"One of yours?" Freyh asked.

"They're all mine," Derlin told him, suppressing the rush of concern. Whoever was injured, it wasn't life-threatening or the request would have been for urgent evac.

oo0oo

Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell watched the man who hung from the chains in front of her. His breath misted in the frigid air. He was no longer shivering. His body had been pushed beyond that point and Ljana knew that he was almost at the limit of his endurance. She would have to be careful. She couldn't risk his heart failing at this point.

A lesser man would have broken by now… but Bail Organa, she had come to learn, was no ordinary man.

He was one of the founders of the Rebel Alliance, had been in seditious collusion with Mon Mothma for almost two decades. While Mothma had been openly critical of the Emperor, however, Bail had worked more deviously. His had been a quiet treason. Even after Mothma had fled and he had begun to distance himself from the Emperor, it had been inferred that he was simply beginning the process of retiring from politics and handing the reigns over to his daughter.

Instead, his daughter's had actions had betrayed two decades of carefully-laid planning.

Ljana stepped in close, resting her hand on his hip. He flinched as the warmth of her touch burned against his freezing skin. Her cheek almost brushing his, mouth close to his ear, she asked, "Senator, what is the fate of the New Republic?"

He drew in a trembled breath. "It will fail..."

Smiling, Ljana pressed, "Why?"

He took another breath. "Without the Jedi to police it, it will dissolve into chaos and anarchy..."

"And why did the Galaxy not descend into disorder and mayhem after the Jedi were wiped out?"

"The Emperor," Bail answered. "Only the Emperor's foresight and prescience saved the galaxy."

"How so?" she asked.

"Reorganising the Republic into an Empire ensured a safe and secure society..."

Castell ran her hand gently down his side, stepping back, brushing the back of her fingers down his cheek, "And what of the Rebel Alliance, Senator?"

"They will fail..."

Castell smiled, pushing, "Why?"

"The Rebellion was founded by those who resented Palpatine's power, who sided with Jedi in their attempt to assassinate him. It was founded on lies."

The Lieutenant Colonel turned, holding out her hand to the Major assisting her. He picked up a flask. Moving across to her he opened it and handed it to her. Wisps of steam coiled out of the top.

Castell gently tilted Organa's head up. "You have done well, Senator. Drink..."

oo0oo

Derlin checked his timepiece again. Usk unit should have reported in by now. It was obviously taking longer than anticipated to secure prisoner level one.

The repulsorlift slowed to a halt. The doors opened. The corridor was empty. Cautiously, Derlin and Freyh made their way towards the Command Centre. The door opened and Freyh stepped through... stopping dead as he felt the muzzle of a blaster against his head.

"Stand down, soldier," Derlin ordered, walking past Freyh. "He's with us."

He looked around the Command Centre. Two stormtroopers and three grey-uniformed officers lay on the floor against the far wall. The data screens above them showed static.

Freyh turned, "Arfour? Bring the cameras back online."

The droid burbled at him and rolled towards one of the consoles. Freyh glanced at Derlin. "Arfour knows the inner workings of this facility. He's responsible for keeping the stormtroopers behind locked doors, as well as blinding and deafening the facility."

The droid plugged itself into the mainframe, burbling tunelessly for a moment. On the wall, the data screens went black before snapping into life, showing feeds from cameras within the facility.

One screen showed Usk in a corridor, taking fire, but inflicting damage: obviously holding their own. Other screens showed stormtroopers trying, unsuccessfully, to open the doors they were locked behind. On two screens, Derlin saw figures running from the Millennium Falcon to the waiting shuttles. Nabrood and Forn unit appeared on another. The rest of the screens showed empty corridors.

"Arfour, we need a feed for the administrator's office," Freyh ordered.

"Control," a voice announced over the comlink. "Usk Unit has secured Prisoner Level one."

Derlin turned, looking at the data screen, seeing the unit beginning to move the stormtroopers' bodies to the side of the corridor they were in. "Copied, Usk," another voice answered then ordered, "Begin retrieval!"

"Arfour, unlock the prisoner cells on level two," Freyh ordered.

The droid whistled acknowledgement. One of the screens on the far wall fizzed into snow and white noise before settling into a picture. Derlin moved forward, scrutinising the scene.

Curzos was backed up against the wall, opposite the door. He was using Antilles as a shield. There was something wrapped around the pilot's neck and Curzos was holding it, forcing Antilles back against his chest. In his other hand Curzos held a blaster, jammed against Antilles' jaw.

Between them and the door, two stormtroopers stood with blasters at the ready.

Freyh moved to stand at Derlin's side, taking in the scene. "I'll go in first," he announced. "It'll put them off guard. I'll get at least two shots off before we lose the surprise. I can take the stormtroopers down."

He paused, then went on, "Curzos won't kill Antilles. Antilles is his ticket out."

Derlin nodded, slowly, hoping that the Colonel was right. "I'll follow your lead, Sir."

oo0oo

The hangar was filled with the low whine of idling engines. Running through the last of the checklist, Luke turned as a voice called, "Commander Skywalker?"

A SpecOps sergeant stood at the door of the flight deck. "You're needed aboard the _Falcon_, Sir."

Nervous anticipation twisting through his stomach, Luke got to his feet, following the sergeant out of the shuttle, across the hangar and up into the _Millennium Falcon_. He followed her through to the living area, grinning in relief and elation as he recognised Yolan Nabrood.

A medical droid was assessing him. His face and torso were mottled with bruising, one side of his face swollen. He was filthy and his breathing rasped in his chest.

"Secor," Luke told him. "It's good to see you again."

Nabrood looked at the Rebel pilot for a long moment, astounded by the difference he saw in him. Even helpless and close to death, there had been an aura of authority about the young man, but seeing him now, in full health, vibrant and sure in his conviction as a Rebel officer, Nabrood could see why people would follow this young man into the jaws of hell without question.

He tried to smile, but winced in pain as his swollen face protested. He held out his hand, "It gladdens my heart to see you so well."

Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, Han relaxed as Luke took the offered hand, shaking it warmly. Nabrood's identity confirmed, the strike unit sergeant nodded to her soldiers and they turned, heading back into the hangar.

"Thank you," Luke told the Diazez man, "for everything you did, for everything you tried to do."

"You were under our protection," Nabrood told him. "I wish only that I could have done more."

"Hey, kid," Han interrupted, walking across to them, "You'd best get settled. They're emptying the first of the cells."

Luke nodded, "Thanks, Han. Nabrood," he went on, turning back to the Diazez man, "this is Han Solo. He's a good friend. He and Chewie will take care of you. Han," he continued, turning to the Corellian, "this is Secor Yolan Nabrood."

"Heard a lot about you," Han told Nabrood, finishing, "Any friend of Luke's..."

Luke frowned, suddenly realising that there was no-one else there. "Where," he began, looking around, "Where's Wedge?"

"Your people know where he is," Nabrood assured him. "They will bring him out."

"You need to go, kid," Han warned before Luke started asking more questions. The last thing they needed was for Luke, Hobbie and the others to decide that they could help in the rescue. "You're the first shuttle out," he reminded the younger man before assuring him, "Once the medic here has finished with Secor Nabrood, I'll make sure he's safe on the flight deck with Chewie and me."

Luke nodded, pushing his worry about Wedge to the side, reminding himself that, any minute now, the strike units were going to start shepherding the released prisoners into the hangar. His job, now, was to get them safely to the _Home One_.

"I'll see you both later," he told Han and Nabrood, turning and heading back towards the shuttle.

oo0oo

The door began to open.

Anxiety contracting through his stomach, Curzos tightened his hold on the leather belt he had wrapped around Antilles' neck. He had no idea what was going on, but a capital ship had dropped into orbit, the emergency alarm had been activated briefly, then he had been unable to raise anyone in the Command Centre.

He wasn't taking any chances. It could be a test: a measure of the facility's ability to prevent escape, in which case, he wasn't going to be found wanting.

The ISB officer, Freyh, stepped into the room.

Anxiety flowing swiftly to anger, Curzos opened his mouth to demand an explanation. _How dare they! How dare ISB treat him like this!_

Then anger turned to incredulous disbelieve as Freyh fired on the stormtroopers. Both men staggered back before crashing to the floor in front of him.

From behind Freyh, another soldier stepped into the room. It took a moment for Curzos to recognise the uniform: Rebel... The soldier's blaster was trained on him. In the corridor, three other Rebel soldiers appeared.

"Let him go, Brigadier!" Freyh ordered.

It took another, long moment for Curzos to finally grasp what was going on. This was no test of readiness. This was terrorist attack! Freyh was a Rebel agent! That was why there had been no special orders about Antilles! The capital ship in orbit was a Rebel ship.

Eyes narrowing in hatred, Curzos pushed the blaster harder into Antilles neck. "I don't answer to Rebel scum!"

"Let him go," Freyh offered, "we'll take him and leave."

Curzos barked a short, cold laugh. There was, he realised, no going back from this. The Emperor was personally interested in Antilles: that much he knew to be true. The Emperor himself had signed the order for the Rebels to be transferred from Coruscant to Möerdaast and Curzos had no doubt that the Emperor would personally sign the order for his execution when he discovered that the facility had been infiltrated and raided by Rebel terrorists.

Everything he had worked for was slowly disintegrating around him. Five years of biding his time as the administrator of one of the most secure penal facilities in the galaxy, destroyed: his dreams of returning to Coruscant as Director of Penal Services, ruined.

"I think not!" he spat.

"We'll leave you a ship," Freyh offered.

Curzos laughed again. It had a slightly hysterical quality to it that unsettled Derlin.

"You, and your traitorous leaders, have nothing to offer me!" Curzos hissed, pulling the leather strap tighter around Antilles' throat, moving the blaster to Antilles' temple.

Derlin clenched his jaw as Antilles began to choke. They were going to have to take Curzos down... and that ran a high risk of Antilles being injured in the process.

"Then what do you want, Brigadier?" Freyh was asking.

"You!" Curzos told him. "Dead!"

Derlin moved as Curzos aimed the blaster at Freyh. He dove sideways, slamming into Freyh as the sound of the blaster shot filled the room. White-hot agony burst through him, knocking him backwards to land on the floor behind Freyh, stealing his breath, driving him down into darkness.

From the corridor, the three special ops soldiers fired in response. Curzos fell backwards, taking Antilles with him. Freyh cursed, clambered to his knees, looking at the crumpled bodies of Curzos and Antilles. He scrambled across to them.

The administrator was dead: his head a bloodied mess. Antilles was alive but the leather strap was still constricting his breathing. He was covered in blood, but Freyh had a feeling that most of it was the administrator's. He reached out, loosening the strap around Antilles' neck as one of the strike unit dropped to her knees beside him. The strap, Freyh realised, was Curzos' uniform belt.

"Control, this is Forn!" the sergeant was reporting, "Lost Bird is secure but down! Viper is down! Request urgent med-evac."

Freyh glanced back towards Derlin as he removed the belt from Antilles neck, not having realised that the Major had been injured. Beside him, the soldier began running a mediscanner over Antilles. "Derlin?" Freyh asked.

"Body armour absorbed most of the blast but his arm's a mess," she reported, then went on, "The blaster shots missed Antilles. This isn't his blood..."

Freyh nodded as the medic confirmed his suspicions. Antilles had been through enough without being shot by his own people. "Can Derlin be moved?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," she confirmed.

Freyh turned, "Sergeant?"

"Sir?"

"We can't wait for med-evac," Freyh told him. "Get Antilles and Derlin down to the hangar now!"

"Yes, Sir! Tohl, Ekday!" the sergeant ordered, "Move it out!"


	33. Chapter 33

Part 33

The light on the console cycled to green, indicating that the ramp had fully retracted and that the shuttle was sealed. Almost immediately a soft breath of air brushed across Luke's face as life-support kicked in. Temperatures and pressures all remained in the green and Luke eased the shuttle from the hangar floor, retracting the landing gear and slowly heading towards the hangar entrance.

"Control, Shuttle One is airborne and heading home."

"Copied, Shuttle One," the mission controller acknowledged. "Route to hangar bay four, port side."

"Hangar bay four, port side," Luke acknowledged.

From his position above the penal facility, Wes Janson saw the shuttle clear the hangar doors. The sensor-lock chimed. "Shuttle One, Rascal Three and Four have you locked," he told Luke, flying the X-wing towards the shuttle, his wing man following. "We're moving in to ride your wake."

"Copied, Rascal Three," Luke acknowledged, keeping the airspeed low in a shallow climb as the shuttle's two, lower foils slowly folded down into a tri-wing. A gentle double-thwump trembled through the shuttle as both foils locked into position. The console indications turned green. "Wings are locked," he told, "accelerating now."

Pouring on the speed, Luke brought the nose up, soaring away from the planet's surface into the thin atmosphere, the two X-wings shadowing him.

"Everything's quiet back here, Commander," a voice told him from the flight deck door.

Luke glanced back at the strike team soldier, acknowledging, "Thank you, Sergeant."

Wearing vests over their body armour, emblazoned with the Rebel Alliance crest, she and another Aurek unit soldier were there to help reassure the terrified, dazed beings who had been ushered onto the shuttle. Wedge Antilles had also been carried aboard, along with Major Derlin and another soldier who had been injured while securing the facility.

Nabrood was in the passenger cabin too, having refused to leave Antilles' side. Luke was grateful for the big Gehndaarian's presence. It was the only thing that was stopping him putting the shuttle on auto-pilot and heading back into the passenger cabin.

Luke had seen the footage of his friend being paraded in front of the media on Coruscant. He had looked pale and drawn, but otherwise unharmed. So little time had passed between then and now, Luke had been appalled when they had brought Wedge aboard. Barely conscious, his face swollen and bruised, he had lain silent and unresponsive when Luke had knelt at his side and taken his hand, calling his name. He had looked so fragile, so lost...

Luke pushed down the anger that rose up. Wedge was alive. That was all that mattered.

"Control," Hobbie's voice crackled over Luke's earpiece, "Shuttle Two is airborne and heading home."

_Two down: eight more to go._

Right now, Alliance forces were attacking two, other facilities. Luke knew little more than that, except that one attack was a diversion, but the second hoped to free more of the Empire's political prisoners. If they pulled off both rescues, it would be a major embarrassment for the Emperor. Han had laughed about that, quipping that heads would be rolling on Coruscant before the end of the day.

Luke smiled at the thought. As he leant across, checking the sensor display and adjusting his course for the _Home One_, he wondered if one of them would be the ISB Lieutenant Colonel who had interrogated Wedge on Gehndaaria.

oo0oo

Jenniiya stood up, smiling in greeting at Mon Mothma and Bana Breemu as the two women walked into her office and moved towards her. There was an air of urgency about them and Jenniiya frowned, assuming that it has something to do with the communiqué that had arrived earlier from the Alliance and wondering what was going on.

"Manwah," Mothma began, pre-empting the question "we have important news..."

"Sit," Jenniiya told them, indicating the easy chairs in the window alcove. "Can I offer you refreshment?" she asked, walking across to join them.

Mothma smiled at her, "No, Manwah. We won't take much of your time."

She sat down, waiting until Jenniiya was also seated before beginning, "The Alliance has launched a major operation against the Empire. Plans were laid before Diazez was forged or we would, of course, have consulted with the Cartel," she explained, continuing, "Three separate missions are currently underway in different sectors to retrieve Alliance personnel form Imperial penal facilities..."

She paused then offered, ""We will, of course, furnish you with the details if you wish them. However, it means two things. The first is that I will have to leave. However, Bana will stay here in my stead. She will speak for Alliance."

Jenniiya nodded. "I understand and I welcome your choice of envoy," she told them, smiling at Bana before looking back at Mothma. "I will have a ship made ready for you."

Mothma smiled, "Thank you."

"And the second thing?" Jenniiya asked.

It was Bana who answered, "One of the missions hopes to retrieve Lieutenant Commander Antilles and Secor Yolan Nabrood..."

Jenniiya's stomach flipped. Hope swept up into her chest and she found herself momentarily unable to find any words. Nabrood might be safe...

"The Princess Leia," Mothma supplied, "explained to us that, in your custom, Nabrood might face exile and be unable to return to Gehndaaria. If this is so, after everything he has done, I assure you that there is a place for him with our people."

Jenniiya shook her head, finding her voice, telling Mothma, "If it is his wish to stay with the Alliance then we will honour his decision... however, the Cartel did not decree exile. Yolan Nabrood's name has been placed in the Hall of the Honoured. He will be welcomed home should he chose to come."

Mothma smiled at her, assuring her, "I will ensure he receives the Cartel's ruling."

"Lieutenant Commander Antilles will also be welcome here," Jenniiya offered. "Should he need time to recuperate, I can think of no more beautiful a place to do so than the mountains of Anjaara."

Bana looked at Mothma then turned to Jenniiya, venturing, "Would there be a place here for more than Antilles?"

Jenniiya frowned, answering, "Perhaps..."

"We hope to free almost five hundred, Imperial prisoners," Bana supplied.

Jenniiya sat back, astounded at the audacity of the plan. "Five hundred?" she repeated.

"We could not, in all conscience, leave behind prisoners and extract only our own personnel," Mon explained.

Jenniiya pressed the comlink on her wrist, ordering, "Have the Secretar and the Secor attend me in my offices! And inform Captain Neelé to ready his ship."

She looked back at Mon and Bana. "This will need much discussion," she told them, thinking aloud as she went on, "Non-humans may be difficult to bring through... but we will arrange something... Five hundred split between the different clans should be uncomplicated as long as we can get them past Oston and his lackies... But... deliveries of slaves would be a good cover..."

Bana and Mon exchanged surprised looks. Then Bana looked back at Jenniiya, interrupting, "Manwah, we did not mean that you should provide somewhere for them all..."

Jenniiya quirked an eyebrow, "I am aware of that, Envoy Breema, but why bring only a few? We run as much risk for six ships of twenty as we do for six ships of fifty... There are three hundred thousand people in the Capitol alone," she went on, "four times that number within the Clans. Five hundred will be concealed without difficulty, although the non-humans will be more problematic..."

oo0oo

Riding off Luke's port side, Wes Janson adjust his course to follow the shuttle as Luke manoeuvred towards the strobing lights that marked the mouth of the port side hangar where he was to land.

The bulk of the cruiser slowly filled the X-wing canopy and Janson continually checked the distance from the ship, finally ordering, "Slow it up, Dack!"

"Copied, Boss," Dack confirmed, reducing speed to match Janson, the shuttle moving ahead of them.

"Rascal Three, I'm established on the approach vector," Luke reported.

"Roger that, Shuttle One," Janson told him. "We're breaking away now. You're on your own. Safe landing."

"Copied, Rascal Three," Luke confirmed, the sensors showing the X-wing escort peeling away. He reduced speed, flying the shuttle in towards the hangar, gently correcting the shuttle's course, following the approach lights. "Sergeant?" he called.

She appeared at the door, "Sir?"

"Let everyone know we're about to land," he told her, raising the two, lower wings.

"Sir," she acknowledged, disappearing.

As he flew the shuttle into the hangar, Luke could see the medical teams waiting. There were other personnel there too; ready to match names with the list of prisoners they had retrieved from the Möerdaast penal facility.

He manoeuvred the shuttle carefully, dropping the landing gear, following the directions of the marshaller, settling the ship gently onto the hangar floor. Spooling down the engines, he ran through the close-down checks, unsealing the hatch and dropping the ramp.

Outside, the alliance personnel moved in. By the time Luke had finished the checks, secured the shuttle a made his way into the cabin, the shuttle was half empty.

He stood at the door, watching as the ragged, unkempt and injured beings were guided down the shuttle ramp into the hangar. Leaning against the bulkhead, Luke closed his eyes, suddenly weary.

_I believe that only the Empire, guided by its sovereign ruler, can ensure stability, and a safe and secure society_.

That's what they had forced Wedge to say wasn't it?

Was this Palpatine's stability? Was this his safe and secure society? Forcing people into xylpher mines? Mindwiping and reprogramming them? Shooting them down in their own homes?

The image of his aunt and uncle reared up, swamping him with anger and grief.

_You must learn the ways of the Force._..

"Commander?"

Luke took a deep breath, opening his eyes, looking at Major Palo Torshan. The Major frowned, taking a step towards him, asking, "Are you all right, Commander?"

Luke pushed himself off the bulkhead, ignoring the dull ache that pushed through his chest from where the shockstick had hit him. "Yes, Sir..." he assured Torshan. "I'll be fine..."

Torshan nodded, accepting Skywalker's assurance, knowing that Antilles had been aboard his shuttle. After everything they had been through in the previous days, having been forced to leave Antilles behind, it was only to be expected that Skywalker would have been affected by Antilles' presence. Guilt, relief, fear and elation would all be tumbling around inside the Commander right now.

"If everything's secure here," he told Skywalker, gently, "we need you in debrief."

He held up a hand as Luke began to protest, assuring the pilot, "You won't be allowed to see Antilles before the medics have evaluated him, Commander. You may as well make yourself useful in debrief. Then," he promised, "I'll make sure you're allowed to see him."

Luke relented, knowing that the Major was right. It didn't make it any easier an order to obey, though. And it wasn't just Wedge that Luke wanted to see, it was Nabrood too: the man who had sacrificed himself to the Empire to protect not just the Diazez, but the Rebel pilots they were hiding.

Tugging his uniform jacket straight, Luke confirmed, "Everything is secure, Sir."

Torshan nodded. "Gather the rest of your pilots," he ordered. "I'll wait for you in debrief."

oo0oo

Palpatine stood up, walking down the steps and across the carpet towards Imperial Advisor Alec Pradeux and the ISB Lieutenant Colonel. In front of them, restraints around his wrists, Bail Organa had been forced to his knees by the Imperial Guard, who now stood at the side of the room.

"You have very much disappointed me, Senator Organa!" Palpatine told him.

Organa lifted his head, unable to think clearly through the haze of drugs that coursed through his system. He recognised where he was... It had been many years, but he recognised the Imperial throne room. He also recognised the robed figure that walked towards him. Fear settled deep in the base of his spine. Now, more than ever, he needed to be careful. Frowning, he concentrated, trying to make sense of what Palpatine was saying.

"You stood at my back throughout the Clone Wars," Palpatine accused, "a trusted friend! And now I find that you have betrayed me, betrayed the very foundation of the Empire! You colluded with Mon Mothma and conspired sedition with the Jedi!"

Palpatine stopped in front of him, demanding, "Do you deny it?"

Bail looked up at him, forming the word carefully, telling the Emperor, "No..."

Palpatine tilted his head. "I am told, that with time to reflect, you have altered your opinions..."

Bail looked at him, confused. Unsure if it was a question or a statement, he said nothing.

Palpatine looked from Organa to Pradeux.

"The process is not exact," Pradeux began, looking at Castell.

The Lieutenant Colonel bowed her head then began, "At the moment, Sire, the questions must be specific. That will be remedied with more sessions… However, if you will allow me?"

Palpatine waved a hand and Castell began, "Senator Organa? What is the fate of the Rebel Alliance?"

Bail hesitated only for a moment, then answered, "They will fail..."

"Why?"

"The Rebellion was founded on lies, by those who resented the Emperor's power and supported the Jedi in their attempt to assassinate him," Bail supplied.

"Did you support the Jedi's attempt to assassinate the Emperor?"

"I... did..."

"But your views have changed," Castell pushed. "What do you now believe the continued sedition of the Rebel Alliance will mean for the galaxy?"

"Civil war," Bail intoned. "Only the Galactic Empire can ensure the continuance of a safe and secure society."

Palpatine cackled in delight, turning and walking back towards his throne. "Well done! Well done!" Now," he ordered, "take him away! Continue the process! Make him ready!"

He stopped, turning back, looking at Pradeux. "If the other Rebel, the pilot, is still alive, have him returned to us!"

oo0oo

Nabrood lay on the cot as the medical droids hovered around him. He had made it only half way to the med bays under his only power... then a coughing fit had stolen his ability to breathe and he had found himself being picked up by the Alliance personnel and carried the rest of the way. The medical droids had slipped a bacta nebuliser over his face and he dragged in deep breaths, coughing them back out, feeling the tightness in his lungs slowly easing.

He winced as the droids pushed intravenous lines into his arm. He wanted to push them away, to protest that he was fine, that this was unnecessary... but he knew that his body was failing him. The physical abuse of the previous days was taking its toll.

Eight days ago he had been on Gehndaaria, the Rebels had been safe in the hotel and all had been well...

Only eight days...

It seemed like weeks... Weeks of pain, punishment, fear and worry.

Physical hardship was nothing new to Nabrood. He had suffered before at the hands of those who had tried to cheat the Diazez Cartel. The scars on his face and body were testament to that... but he had never been removed from Gehndaaria before. He hadn't realised, until now, how much more strength it had taken to be steadfast without Gehndaarian soil beneath him.

In the relative safety of the Alliance ship's medical bay, knowing that he was among friends, he felt the weight of that solitary duty lifting from him, leaving him exhausted... but comforted. He was no longer alone. He might never be able to return to Gehndaaria, but there was a place for him here, within the Rebel Alliance.

He had never doubted Jenniiya's decision to supply the Rebel Alliance with fighters despite the Council ruling that the Diazez Cartel should remain apart from the Empire and the associated politics. Everything he had suffered at the hands of the Empire had only reinforced his belief that Jenniiya had been right.

The Empire had no honour.

If he knew Jenniiya, she and Lyn would have used the events that followed the bounty hunters' attack on the Rebel pilots, to convince the Cartel Chieftains that they could no longer remain neutral.

Turning his head, he looked across at the Rebel pilot lying on the cot on the other side of the cubicle. If not for the IV lines and the respiration mask, he would have looked as if he was sleeping...

Nabrood closed his eyes, knowing that there was no peace beneath the facade of serenity. The man who had been rescued from the penal facility was a far cry from the man who had stood, badly injured but defiant in front of Imperial Governor Oston.

_Lie down in front of an Imperial? Frag that!_

It was the same strength that Antilles had found in the mines, when the stormtroopers had abandoned them to the burning xylpher: the strength that had dragged Nabrood those last, few steps and shoved him into the safety of the repulsorlift.

That fragile, returning sanity had been lost, however: stripped away by the terrifying prospect of being subjected to further ISB isolation and torture... Unwittingly stripped away by the very means of his salvation…

Finished, the medical droids retreated, leaving Nabrood alone with Antilles. The Gehndaarian closed his eyes and pulled the mask away from his face. Then he began to talk, filling the silence with stories of his childhood in the Western Mountains: of running through the forests and hunting in the high pastures in the warm days of spring and summer; of sitting around the fire on long, winter nights, listening to the stories of the elders as snow fell outside; of the myriad colours, sounds and smells that had assaulted him on his first visit to the Gehndaarian capitol; and of why he had stayed in the service of the Manwah and not returned to the mountains.

oo0oo

Lieutenant Haniff-Brin Aksha lifted the last of the shuttles off of the hangar floor. Turning the ship, he retracted the landing gear and headed out of the almost-empty hangar into the thin, Möerdaast atmosphere. Only the _Millennium Falcon_ remained. In the atmosphere above, another transport waited to land, to take on the last of the facility's prisoners.

Clearing the hangar doors, Brin lowered the wings, confirming, "Control, Shuttle Ten is airborne and heading home."

His X-wing escort dropped in either side of him as the controller acknowledged, "Copied, Shuttle Ten! Route to hangar bay five, port side."

"Hangar five, port side," Brin confirmed, accelerating upward as the tri-wings locked.

"Shuttle Ten," Tarn Mison reported, "Rascals Seven and Eight are on your tail."

Brin grinned, telling him, "Welcome aboard..."

He trailed off as the sensor alarms chimed, warning of a hyperspace point forming. "Tarn..." he began in warning.

"I see it!"Mison confirmed.

On the _Home One_, the tension on the bridge rose. The mission controller swore, waiting for confirmation from the tactical station. It was possible that this was an Alliance ship...

Possible, if not probable…

The tactical officer confirmed the worst. "Star Destroyer dropping into normal space… It's the Executor, Admiral!"

The mission controller swore again, then warned the senior Alliance officer on the planet below, "Chameleon! Incoming! Incoming! Incoming!"

"All wings, battle stations!" Akbar began, issuing orders to the fighter squadrons. "Protect the ships leaving Möerdaast! Helmsman," he went on, "keep us out of range of that Star Destroyer for as long as you can!" He turned to the mission controller, "Find out how long it's going to take to evacuate the remaining prisoners!"

In the command centre of the penal facility, SpecOps Colonel Daemic Freyh muttered a curse under his breath. There were almost eighty prisoners still in the hangar. He looked at the screens on the wall, watching as another Alliance transport manoeuvred in through the hangar doors to set down beside the _Falcon_.

Turning to the SpecOps sergeant beside him, Freyh ordered, "Get your team out of here. We're out of time! Get those people aboard those two ships!"

The sergeant nodded, turning to the other soldiers, ordering, "You heard the Colonel, move it out!"

"Control, we have eighty, eight-zero, still to load," Freyh confirmed. "The second transport is on the ground. We're loading them now."

oo0oo

Vader strode across the bridge of the _Executor_ towards the durasteel viewports, looking out at the Rebel, Mon Calamari cruiser: one of the very ships Palpatine had ordered him to hunt down and destroy. More than that, he could sense the presence of his son. Luke was here, on the ship.

Behind him, the bridge crew rattled off reports and information to Piett and Ozzel, briefing them about the situation. There were ships en-route from the Möerdaast penal facility to the Mon Calamari cruiser. Sensors indicated that there were far fewer beings in the facility than there should be…

The Rebellion, it appeared, were in the middle of a rescue mission. It explained why the _Executor_ had been unable to raise the facility to ask about Nabrood, but failed to explain why a distress signal had not been sent out when the Rebels first appeared.

Ozzel was ordering TIEs to launch, both to intercept the ships leaving Möerdaast and to attack the Mon Calamari cruiser. Rebel fighters were already moving in to intercept.

Beneath the mask, Vader smiled.

Vader had fought the Rebel Alliance long enough to know that the cruiser would not abandon the smaller ships to the might of the _Executor_. And while the Star Destroyer targeted the smaller ships, trapping them within the Möerdaast atmosphere, the TIEs would have the perfect opportunity to put the Rebel cruiser's hyperdrive out of commission. At sub-light speeds, the _Executor_ would easily overtake it.

And once it was within their grasp…

Vader turned. "How many ships are yet to reach the cruiser?"

Ozzel looked to the tactical officer for an answer.

"Three, Lord Vader," the man supplied, "with two others still on the planet."

"Move us in, Admiral!" Vader ordered. "Bring us within tractor distance of the ships still in the atmosphere! The cruiser will not run while they are in our sights. Have the TIEs target the cruiser's hyperdrive! The Emperor demands that Mon Mothma is brought before him! We board that ship!"


	34. Chapter 34

Part 34

Wes Janson poured on the speed, accelerating down through the thin atmosphere of Möerdaast, leading the group of eight fighters towards the penal facility. Another two X-wings had broken off, to add to the escort for Aksha's shuttle as he climbed the ship up through the atmosphere.

Janson keyed the mic. "_Falcon_, this is Rascal Three, do you copy?"

There was a short pause then Solo's voice replied, "Rascal Three, _Falcon_, go ahead."

"Star Destroyer just joined the party!" Janson warned. "Get your butt out of there!"

"Yeah, we heard," Han assured him, looking out of the flight deck at the almost empty hangar. The last of the freed prisoners were being ushered aboard the other ship, the _Ashwaarya_. A small squad of soldiers appeared through the hatch on the far side of the hangar, running fast.

"We're almost locked and loaded!" Han told Janson. He pulled off the headset, pushing himself out of the seat and telling Chewie, "Start her up, buddy! I'll go make sure we don't leave anyone behind."

Chewbacca nodded, already beginning to run through the start sequence for the engines. Han turned, heading out of the flight deck and through the ship. There were beings everywhere, crowded into the communal area, sitting in the corridors. They were all half-naked, bemused and bedraggled. They looked at him with nervous, fearful expressions.

Han clenched his jaw in anger, a sudden sense of foreboding settling around him. The smuggler in him screamed at him to get out, to get away from this, that this was nothing to do with him... but another part of him knew that it was already too late. It had been too late the moment his conscience had kicked in and dragged him back to Yavin.

And now he had ties holding him here... Friends... People who watched his back, who had risked their lives to protect him and Chewie... People like Derlin and Antilles...

_And the Empire chasing you_, another voice taunted in his head. _And a Star Destroyer right above you, trying to hunt you down_...

Swearing, muttering about damned-fool rescues, he moved towards the ramp.

The squad of soldiers were running up it. Han nodded to the sergeant, eyeing another man he didn't recognise. The man had discarded his jacket but Han knew an Imperial uniform when he saw it. And since the Imperial wasn't in chains, Han concluded he must be the Rebel SpecOps Colonel, code-name _Chameleon_.

"Derlin's on the _Home One_, with Antilles and Nabrood," Han told them.

"Any news on how he's doing?" the Colonel asked.

"None," Han admitted, "but they've got their hands full up there right now."

"I heard," the Colonel told him.

"Well, we're the last," the sergeant confirmed. "We can leave any time you're ready."

Han nodded, turning, telling them, "Then grab yourself a seat! This could be a rough ride!"

oo0oo

"Admiral," the tactical officer warned Ackbar, "the Star Destroyer is moving in. It's trying to cut us off from the shuttles!"

"And the TIEs?" Ackbar asked.

"Still heading towards us, Sir. They're ignoring the other ships."

"How long until the _Millennium Falcon_ and _Ashwaarya_ are airborne?" Ackbar asked the mission controller.

"They're lifting now, Sir," she reported.

"Tell them and the shuttles not yet aboard, to go to plan 'B'! They jump to hyperspace as soon as they clear the atmosphere!" Ackbar ordered. "We'll meet them at the alternate rendezvous!"

He turned, ordering, "Helmsman, plot a course to take us across the Star Destroyer's bow! If it gets close enough to lock a tractor beam onto those shuttles, they're lost! And be ready to jump to hyperspace at my command!"

"Plotting now, Sir!" the helmsman confirmed.

On the planet below, Chewbacca lifted the _Falcon_ lifted, turning it slowly as the landing gear retracted, then carefully manoeuvring towards the hangar entrance. Behind the _Falcon_, the _Ashwaarya_ also lifted and followed. As the Falcon cleared the hangar doors, four X-wings swept in, taking up position above and behind the ship.

"Falcon," Janson's voice announced, "we're on our own. Plan B!"

"Copied, Rascal," Han confirmed. "Plan B... "

oo0oo

"Captain Piett, Sir?"

Piett turned, looking at the tactical officer.

"The Mon Calamari cruiser is changing course," the man supplied. "It's moving to cross our bow..."

"Reduce speed..."

"Belay that order," Vader countermanded.

The Rebel crew were playing right into his hands. They were moving in, in anticipation that the _Executor_ would not risk any hazardous manoeuvres. They had badly miscalculated. They were, instead, putting the ship within his grasp.

"Maintain speed and plot their course!" he ordered. "Keep us above the cruiser! And ready the tractor beams!"

oo0oo

On the bridge of the _Home One_, the mission controller reported, "Shuttle Nine has jumped to hyperspace with escort, Admiral. Shuttle Ten will clear the atmosphere in the next few minutes."

"Sir," another officer informed him, "the TIEs have engaged! Aft batteries have opened fire." A small shudder rippled through the ship, as if to emphasise it. Then another.

"Admiral," the officer went on, "they appear to be targeting the hyperdrive engines… nothing else!"

A gnawing sense of unease settled in the pit of Ackbar's stomach. The TIEs, he realised, were trying to disable the _Home One,_ not destroy it. At sublight speeds, the Star Destroyer was less manoeuvrable but faster. Without hyperdrive engines, it would only be a matter of time before the Star Destroyer disabled the _Home One_'s turbolasers and had the ship held fast in tractor beams...

"They're trying to board us!" the Executive Officer commented softly, his thoughts mirroring Ackbar's.

Both of them were aware of what that would initiate: a bloody, deck-by-deck battle that would end up with everyone aboard the Mon Calamarai cruiser dead or in chains. The Alliance personnel would take a good number of Imperials with them but, ultimately, they would be no match for the sheer numbers of stormtroopers aboard the Star Destroyer. And it was only a matter of time before Imperial reinforcements arrived.

The forward batteries began firing on the Star Destroyer as the cruiser moved within range of the Imperial ship. In answer, the Star Destroyer began returning fire.

Caught between ensuring the safety of everyone aboard the _Home One,_ or the protection of almost one-hundred and fifty souls on the ships below, Ackbar made the only decision he could. He turned to his XO. "My regrets to Shuttle Ten, the _Ashwaarya_ and the _Falcon_. Tell them that we can no longer protect them!"

The XO nodded, swallowing, confirming, "Aye, Sir!" before moving away.

"Helmsman, full astern!"Ackbar ordered.

"Full astern, aye, Admiral!"

"Lock down all inertial dampers!" Ackbar went on. "Prepare for evasive manoeuvres!"

The tension level on the bridge jumped at his words, but it was focussed and calm, not flustered. Ackbar acknowledged that the crew was apprehensive, but he also knew they would perform their duties without hesitation. They were well-trained and every single one of them knew what was at stake.

A slight shudder rippled through the cruiser as the thrusters fought the forward inertia, dragging the huge ship to a halt.

"Inertial dampers locked," the chief engineer confirmed.

"Four TIEs destroyed… One burned up in the sublight wash," the tactical officer reported. "No damage to the engines, Sir. The TIEs have broken off… but are coming back in for another pass!"

"Then let's see if we can take another few out," Ackbar commented before ordering, "Helmsman, prepare to bring the ship about! Navigator, make ready for a jump to lightspeed!"

oo0oo

Aboard the tenth shuttle, Lieutenant Haniff-Brin Aksha swore, keying the mike, asking, "Rascal Seven, did you copy? We're on our own!"

"I copied, Brin," Tarn Mison told him, pouring through the data being thrown onto the tactical display by his astromech droid. "Damn it! That Destroyer's coming in fast! Come right, heading point-four-five! It'll keep us ahead of the bloody thing, at least until we reach the outer ionosphere!"

"Coming right," Brin acknowledged, inputting the new heading, "point... four... five!"

The shuttle wasn't built for manoeuvrability, however. It turned wide and slow. Cold, hard dread settled in the pit of Brin's stomach. He pulled up another display, extrapolating the course and speed vectors for his shuttle, the X-wings and the Star Destroyer.

They weren't going to make it. The Star Destroyer was going to intercept them.

"Corporal!" he called.

There was a moment's delay then the soldier appeared at the door. "Sir?"

"Man the cannon!" Brin ordered. "We might have a fight on our hands."

The corporal nodded acknowledgement, disappearing into the body of the shuttle.

In the X-wing, Tarn could also see that the Star Destroyer was going to overtake the shuttle. A warning flag appeared on his screen, an alarm beginning to chime. "Ahhh, poodoo!" he cursed. "Give a bloke a break, will ya!"

The Star Destroyer was already trying to lock a tractor beam onto them.

"Form up!" he ordered the other X-wings. "Two pairs! Stay behind the shuttle! With any luck we'll fool their sensors and the tractors will target us..."

Brin swallowed hard against the panic that rose up and swept over him. He closed his eyes, fighting back the memories that shoved into his mind: of hanging, helpless in a cell; drugs coursing through his body, punches slamming into his back and belly…

_How many Rebels were with you?_

He shook his head, trying to calm his breathing, closing his trembling hands into fists. The tractor-lock alarm warbled briefly before falling silent.

No!

He wasn't going to allow this to happen! He could not, would not, allow himself, or any of the people in the body of the shuttle, to end up back in Imperial hands. Not when they were so close…

Jumping to hyperspace while still within a planetary atmosphere was a dangerous manoeuvre… but it was less risky than being dragged aboard the Star Destroyer. He keyed the mic, telling Tarn, "Rascal Seven, break off and get out of here! I'm making the jump now!"

Tarn swore but, under the circumstances, he couldn't have agreed more with Brin's decision.

"Copied, Shuttle Seven! All wings! Break! Break! Break!"

He peeled away from the shuttle, his wingman following, the other two X-wings pairing off in the other direction, all of them accelerating as fast as they could.

Brin waited for as long as he dared, giving the fighters time to get out of range. The tractor-beam alarm warbled again and Brin knew that he was out of time. Closing his eyes, hoping that the tractor wasn't locked and that the shuttle wouldn't rip apart, he hit the jump button.

oo0oo

"Helmsman," Ackbar ordered, "all stop! On my mark, bring us around! Turn as tight as you can, then take us to full sub-light! With any luck, we'll fry that Destroyer's sensors in our wash!"

"Aye, Sir!" the helmsman confirmed, cutting power to all the ship's engines, plotting the manoeuvre as the navigator fed him data for the jump to lightspeed.

Ackbar took a deep breath. Then he ordered, "Turn! Turn! Turn! Mark!"

"Turning, aye, Sir."

Despite the inertial dampers, the artificial gravity struggled to cope as the helmsman turned the ship almost on the spot. Ackbar felt himself pushed forward by the centrifugal force. On the view screen, the image of the Star Destroyer slid away to the side as the bow of the cruiser swung around. The ship creaked, protesting the manoeuvre.

"View astern!" Ackbar ordered.

The screen flickered and the image changed to the scene behind the ship. The Star Destroyer hove into view, sliding in from the edge of the screen to dead centre. The image distorted as the helmsman stopped the turn and poured on the power.

The cruiser surged forward.

Ackbar smiled. The ion stream from the engines should distort the Star Destroyer's sensor readings, hopefully blinding them for long enough to provide some measure of cover for the _Millennium Falcon_ and the _Ashwaarya_ to head out of the Möerdaast atmosphere and escape into hyperspace.

The _Home One_ was accelerating away from Möerdaast… but they weren't moving away from the Star Destroyer, Ackbar realised. It had also turned and accelerated, pursuing them. More than that, it was closing the distance. The Empire, it appeared, was determined to detain and board them.

Ackbar barked a short, impenitent laugh. _Not today. The Empire would not board his ship today!_

"Helmsman," he ordered, softly, "take us into hyperspace!"

oo0oo

The only sound on the bridge of the Star Destroyer was the hiss and pop of the sensor screens as the ion wash from the Mon Calamari ship distorted the readings… and the measured, even rasp of Vader's respiration unit.

The Dark Lord of the Sith stood unmoving, gazing out of the durasteel viewport at the point where the Rebel cruiser had just disappeared. Apprehension and anxiety flowed towards him from the bridge personnel as they realised that the Rebel cruiser had evaded them, escaping into hyperspace. He heard Ozzel issuing orders to track any other ships in the sector.

No other ships mattered. The cruiser was gone. His son was gone. And Vader harboured no hopes that Antilles was still secured in the penal facility below.

"Admiral…" a voice began. "Sir… we are receiving reports of another Rebel attack, on the penal facility on Orinackra..."

The statement pulled Vader out of his reverie. _A second attack, timed to coincide with the first_? He turned as Ozzel ordered that the officer confirm the report.

Instead, the man hesitated, obviously listening to another report in his earpiece. Looking at Ozzel, the officer offered, "Admiral... There has also been an attack on the Tarkin facility on Ruul..."

A three-fold assault, Vader considered. The Rebel Alliance was growing more daring. The Emperor was going to be displeased with their audacity.

Another thought occurred to him: the _Executor_ had received no distress message from Möerdaast. Only his own incentive had brought the _Executor_ here. It was entirely possible that the Empire was still unaware of this, third attack…

Vader closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he anticipated the Emperor's reaction to the news… and the report that the Mon Calamari cruiser had evaded him.

Coming so soon after his release from confinement, Vader knew that there was a very real possibility of the Emperor ordering his return to Coruscant… which would hamper his efforts to find his son.

Bracing himself for Palpatine's reaction, knowing that any further delay would only increase the Emperor's ire, Vader strode across the bridge, ordering, "Open a channel to Coruscant! I will inform the Emperor of this attack myself! Dispatch troops to the surface!" he continued. "Find out what damage the Rebels have done! Have the prison Director brought to the _Executor_! And secure a prisoner list from all three facilities! Determine who the Rebels were trying to rescue and bring that information to me!"

"At once, Lord Vader," Ozzel assured him.

oo0oo

Skimming as close to the lava flows and the sharp, jagged, volcanic structures as he dared, Wes Janson flew away from the penal facility, his wingman flying as tightly as he could beside him. The _Millennium Falcon_ followed them, a pair of fighters shadowing Solo's ship off the port side. Behind the Falcon, the _Ashwaarya _also skimmed across the volcanic surface, two X-wings riding off her starboard side. Another two fighters followed them, bringing up the rear.

Janson's astromech droid mewled softly, throwing data onto the tactical screen. The _Home One_ had jumped into hyperspace, as had the T-65s. Imperial fighters were now heading towards the surface… but from the looks of things, they were routing towards the penal facility and either hadn't seen, or were no longer interested in, the _Falcon_, the _Ashwaarya_ and their X-wing escort. Janson doubted that it was the latter and knew that it was only a matter of time before the TIEs spotted them. Their only chance of escape lay in staying too far ahead of the fighters, or the Star Destroyer, to be intercepted before they pulled up to a safe altitude to jump to hyperspace.

A gush of lava spewed up in front of him and Janson swore, swerving right, away from his wingman, to avoid it.

Behind him, the _Millennium Falcon_ also swerved right. On the flight deck, Chewbacca brayed at Han and the Corellian shot him a sour look. "Yeah? Well, I'd rather be down here avoiding lava, than up there avoiding TIEs, buddy!"

Chewie mewled another comment and Han glared at him, accusing, "Well, maybe you should have thought of that before giving me the silent, moody treatment at Yavin! We only went back because I couldn't take any more of your sulking!"

Chewie growled a denial of the accusation.

"Well, if Wookiees don't sulk," Han countered, angrily, "you must be half…"

Chewie cut him off with a terse reply that left Han open-mouthed.

"I did not turn back because of Her Royal Ice Princess-ship!" he denied. "And you're crazy if you think we're sticking around because I have a soft spot for her! Leia has no soft spots! She's all Rebellion, and hard edges, and…"

He broke off, glancing behind at the flight deck door as it opened. Demaec Freyh stepped inside, nodding to Solo, telling him, "Your passengers are as settled as they're going to be... Colonel Demaec Freyh," he went on, introducing himself to Chewbacca as the Wookiee turned to look at him, "Alliance Special Ops. Any news on Derlin or Antilles?"

"We're in radio silence," Han told him. "The _Home One_ had to bail out."

A curl of apprehension wound through Freyh's gut. "Did all the shuttles make it aboard?"

"At least one didn't," Han supplied. "We're running silent to put some space between us and that Star Destroyer before we head for hyperspace ourselves."

"And the other transport?" Freyh asked.

"The Ashwaarya's right behind us," Han told him. "We've got an eight-wing T-65 escort, too."

"Sounds like good odds," Freyh commented, softly. "Mind if I stick around until we jump?"

"Grab a seat," Han told him. "And hang on!"

oo0oo

The small, attack transport manoeuvred slowly into the hangar under the direction of the marshaller, landing gear extending as it sank onto the ground. General Vanden Willard, Commanding Officer of the Alliance base on New Kisge, stood at the edge of the hangar, waiting until the ramp extended before walking across towards the ship. He nodded in welcome to the two, grubby and dishevelled officers who moved down the ramp towards him.

"Captain Valdez, Major Farr," he greeted, "welcome to Delta Base."

Toryn Farr smiled at him. "It's good to be here, Sir…"

"Sir," Shawn Valdez acknowledged, frowning, wondering why their arrival would merit a welcome from such a senior officer. He'd expected to be met and taken to debrief by Alliance Intelligence, not the Delta Base commanding officer.

The General's next words gave him his answer.

"Major," Willard told Farr, "Special Ops have acted on intelligence concerning Alliance pilots taken prisoner after the attack on the Bilbringi shipyards..."

Toryn Farr looked at him, swallowing down the constriction of grief that rose up into her throat. Her younger sister, Samoc, had died at Bilbringi...

Willard took a step towards her and Farr almost retreated, only just managing to stand her ground. The pain of the loss was still too raw in her chest and, physically exhausted from days evading the Empire after the attack on Chandra, she was afraid that any physical contact would shatter her into pieces, emotionally.

Then she realised that the General was smiling. _Smiling...?_

"Samoc is alive," he told her. "She's a little the worse the wear of an Imperial detention facility, but she's safe and on her way here."

Toryn blinked. Then she dragged in a sob of air, gaping at the General in disbelief, shaking her head, not quite sure that she'd heard him correctly. Her legs were shaking as she took a second breath, managing simply, "What?"

"Major Farr," the General confirmed, "your sister, Samoc, has been rescued from an Imperial detention facility. She, and another pilot, are on their way here, now, with the Special Ops team who went in for them." His smile widened. "She's safe, Major."

Toryn couldn't speak: she couldn't breathe. Emotions swamped her, leaving her dizzy and elated and unable to take it all in. Her legs gave way and both Willard and Valdez stepped in, catching her before she crumpled to the floor.

"Whoa, Major," Valdez told her gently, holding her upright with Willard's help. "We've got you..."

"Breathe, Major!" Willard ordered, a sharp edge of authority creeping into his voice.

Toryn dragged in lungful of air, laughing it out as tears coursed down her face. She couldn't take it all in. Samoc was alive! Her little sister was alive!

"I'm sorry..." she tried. "I'm sorry... Sir... I..."

"I'll overlook it, Major!" Willard assured her. "Just this once! Now on your feet!" he ordered, the firmness in his tone brooking no argument, "This is conduct unbecoming of a ranking officer, Major, and we are drawing attention!"

The discipline did as he had hoped, breaking through the flood of emotion. Slowly, Willard released his grip on Farr as she found her feet: the ragged, frantic breathing returning to a more normal, if laboured, pace. Shawn Valdez kept a hand beneath the Major's elbow, steadying her as she fought to bring her emotion under control and brushed away tears with the back of her hand.

"Get to medical," Willard ordered. "Both of you. Have either of you slept?"

"We caught a few hours on the way here, General," Valdez confirmed.

"Good. Then, once you've finished in medical and cleaned yourselves up, Major Anders will want you both in debrief. There's a lot you need to catch up on."

"Yes, Sir," they both confirmed. Then Valdez asked, ""General? Were there any losses at Chandra?"

"The evacuation was successful," Willard confirmed. "Now," he went on before either of them could ask any more questions, "both of you, get to medical."


	35. Chapter 35

[Summary – A mission to pick up six T-65 fighters on Gehndaaria has been compromised by bounty hunters. The Diazez Cartel successfully protect Skywalker and three other pilots, but they are unable to prevent Wedge Antilles and Haniff-Brin Aksha being questioned by Imperial officers. The senior ISB officer - Lt Col Ljana Castell - conceives a plan to mindwipe Wedge Antilles, put him in front of the Galactic media and have him not only denounce the Rebel Alliance but accuse Skywalker of murdering his own people. Palpatine approves the plan and dispatches Darth Vader to Gehnaaria to bring Antilles to Coruscant. When Vader arrives he senses the presence of his son. The head of Diazez security, Yolan Nabrood, sacrifices himself to save the Cartel, telling Vader that he alone helped the Rebels and that Skywalker is safely hidden. The Diazez Cartel help Skywalker, Aksha and the other pilots to escape. Nabrood and Antilles are consigned to the penal facility on Möerdaast but a Rebel SpecOps Colonel - Demaec Freyh – successfully infiltrates the facility and a rescue of not just Antilles and Nabrood, but all of the Möerdaast facility prisoners, is successful. However, the Star Destroyer _Executor_ drops into normal space above Möerdaast during the mission, forcing the _Home One_ to abandon ships in the Möerdaast atmosphere. Major Bren Derlin is injured saving Demaec Freyh's life during the rescue mission.]

Part 35

Artoo Detoo paused for a moment. The Princess Leia moved further along the corridor then turned into the Command Centre of Echo Base. Whistling nonchalantly, Artoo rolled along the corridor and into the Centre after her. The little droid stopped, realising that Kay-Threepio was there.

Artoo was supposed to be helping the X-wing techs and if Kay-Threepio spotted him, the over-efficient, white, protocol droid would dispatch him back to the hangar, to his assigned duties. Luke Skywalker, however had left explicit instructions that he, and Cee-Threepio, were to look after the Princess. How were they supposed to do that if they weren't with her?

Making a sudden decision, Artoo turned sharply and trundled, as quietly as he could, into the far corner, behind one of the consoles. Pushing himself as close to the wall as he could, Artoo settled down to listen.

"...complete success," General Rieekan was reporting. "Both pilots were rescued, along with the prisoners in the same section. They, and General Madine's SpecOps team are en-route to Delta Base. There were no casualties."

"Excellent news!" Leia told him, then asked, "What about Ruul?"

"That all went to plan," Rieekan confirmed. "The fighters harried the base until the Imperial reinforcements arrived, then successfully withdrew without casualties. Our other mission, on Möerdaast," he went on, "was also a success, although Major Derlin was seriously injured. Both he and Antilles were evacuated on the first shuttle with the Diazez man..."

He paused, checking the datapad before continuing, "The Star Destroyer _Executor_ arrived before the rescue was complete. The _Home One _had to jump, leaving ships behind..."

A curl of fear twisted through Leia's spine. "Which ships?" she asked, dreading the answer. Luke was on that mission.

"Lieutenant Brin-Aksha's shuttle and fighter escort, but they reached the rendezvous with the _Home One_," Rieekan confirmed. "The _Millennium Falcon_ and the _Ashwaarya_ are not yet accounted for."

Behind the console, Artoo mewled softly at the news that Han Solo and Chewbacca were missing. Then he remembered the clandestine nature of his presence in the Command Centre. Hoping that Kay-Threepio hadn't heard anything, he tried to conceal himself further against the wall: wondering if he should share the news with Cee-Threepio, or keep it to himself until he found out more.

A dull knot of worry settled in Leia's chest, tempering her relief that Luke had made it safely through the Möerdaast rescue. An image, of Han being dragged into a cell by two stormtroopers, rushed up, constricting her breathing with a wave of fear. It triggered a memory: of Luke being carried off the Diazez ship, unconscious, his face ashen beneath a respirator mask.

Realising, suddenly, that Rieekan was still talking and that she wasn't listening, Leia shook herself mentally. Exasperation at her own inattention, pushed away the fear for her friends… Not that Han Solo was a 'friend': infuriating man!

Silently berating herself for allowing emotion to intrude when she ought to be focussed, she apologised, "I'm sorry, General. What did you say?"

"There is no news yet about Derlin or Antilles' condition… Or of the Diazez man."

Leia nodded, knowing that it could be hours before further information reached Echo Base. "They're safe aboard the _Home One_," she acknowledged. "That's the main thing. All we can do now is wait for news..."

Rieekan sighed, grimacing, admitting, "And that's always the worst part, your Highness. The waiting..."

"I know exactly what you mean, General," Leia agreed before giving him a bright smile and holding out a datapad to him. "However, to counter that, I have some good news. General McQuarrie reports that the main, environmental doors are fully installed and they're ready to begin removing the protective ice-wall between the doors and the hangar. In only a few hours, we'll have our main entrance finished."

oo0oo

The canopy of the X-wing fighter cracked open. Wes Janson unlocked his restraints, pushing them back over his shoulder before lifting the flight helmet from his head and running a hand through his hair. His Chief Tech appeared at his shoulder, shooting him a grin.

"Any problems, Sir?" she asked.

Janson shook his head, confirming, "Nothing. We didn't take any fire, either."

"Jolly good!" the Chief acknowledged. Then her grin widened. "They got Antilles out," she told him. "There's nothing official, but I have it on good authority."

Janson returned her grin… but the rush of elation was tempered by his gnawing unease about the safety of Hannif-Brin Aksha and his fighter escort, led by Tarn Mison.

The damned Star Destroyer that had dropped into orbit had targeted the _Home One_ and forced the cruiser to jump to hyperspace earlier than planned: leaving the _Millennium Falcon,_ the _Ashwaarya_ and Brin's shuttle behind, with only their fighter escorts for protection.

Janson, and the pilots under his command, had been tasked to defend the _Millennium Falcon_ and the _Ashwaarya. _Attention focussed on them, Janson hadn't seen Brin, or his fighter escort, escape into hyperspace.

Hoping that they had all made it to the rendezvous, he asked, "Has Lieutenant Aksha landed? Or Mison?"

"I don't know about the shuttle," the Chief told him told him, "but that's Lieutenant Mison's bird over there..." she went on, turning to point along the line of fighters on the other side of the hangar. She pulled out a comlink. "Yaar, this is Ekhandir."

There was a slight delay; then a voice replied, "Hey, gorgeous! What do you need from me?"

Rolling her eyes, shaking her head, Yaar asked, "Did your pilot say anything about Aksha?"

"He didn't," Ekhandir confirmed, "but you'll find him up in Medical. He muttered something about Antilles owing him fifty credits…"

Janson's unease quieted at the comment. If anything had happened to Brin, Tarn would have told his tech crew. As the Chief thanked her colleague, Janson shook his head, chuckling softly. Mison, it appeared, wasn't going to give up on that fifty credits…

"Oh," Yaar offered, suddenly remembering, "There's an Intel Commander waiting for you, to escort you to debrief."

"Thanks, Chief," he acknowledged, pushing himself to his feet. She slid down the ladder to the hangar floor, giving Janson room to swing his legs over the edge of the fighter. He climbed down to the ground, turning to look at the Intelligence officer, acknowledging, "Reporting for debrief, Ma'am."

He paused, then asked, "Ma'am… could we go via Medical?"

The Commander frowned, a flash of concern washing across her face. Looking him over, she asked, "Are you injured?"

"No, Ma'am," Janson assured her, "But... I..."

He thought, briefly, about trying to make an excuse... then decided that being honest was probably the best way to appeal to her. "I'd like to see how Antilles is doing..."

The Commander hesitated for a moment, caught between the urgency of the Lieutenant's debrief and the knowledge that the pilot had only just landed. The engines on his fighter hadn't even fully spooled down.

He was due at least a comfort break, a large beaker of kaffin and a sweet-bake. And pressing the point when the Lieutenant was distracted by Antilles' well-being would probably only slow down the debrief. So she agreed, telling him, "Five minutes, Lieutenant! Then I come to find you."

Janson gave her a wide smile. "Thank you, Ma'am."

oo0oo

Wedge lay, propped up on pillows, a respiration mask on his face, IV units attached to his arms. His eyes were open, but they were blank, devoid of any of the devilment that normally sparked through them. Luke sighed, pausing in his account of the escape from Gehndaaria as Medical Specialist Gemaria Nejes moved towards them.

He glanced at her before looking back at Wedge. "Does he even know I'm here?" he asked.

"On some level, he does," she told him. "The psychological trauma has caused him to withdraw from the world, but he can still see and hear. It's just that the messages are a little confused..."

Luke glanced her before returning his attention to Wedge. "So he can hear us?"

"Yes, he can hear us," she assured him. She paused, trying to find a way to explain what was happening. "Think of it like this," she began, "It's like a child hiding under the covers to stay safe from the monsters under the bed. They can hear their parents' voices from the other room, but to reach that safety they need to get out of bed…"

"And there's monsters under the bed," Luke finished, understanding what the Specialist was saying.

"Exactly," Nejes agreed, "Only, in this case, the monsters are very real. His mind has put up barriers to try to protect him. At the moment, he just doesn't realise it's safe for him to come out."

Luke nodded. He'd suffered his own terrifying flashbacks in the days following his physical recovery on Echo Base. His dreams were still haunted by the fear and anxiety that those memories pushed through him. Nejes had assured him that they were all normal reactions to what he'd experienced. She'd helped him confront the experiences, explaining that it was the first steps in coming to terms with what had happened.

Locked away in his head, Wedge had no-one to guide him... He had no-one to help him stop the memories blurring together.

Lips pressed into a tight line, Luke asked, "He'll be okay, though...?"

Nejes gave Skywalker a reassuring smile. "With all the nutrients those IV lines are delivering, he's already physically stronger. His body will heal. I'm certain that it will be only a matter of time before his mind begins to respond. It may take a few hours; it may take a little longer..."

She paused for a moment, and then assured him, "You have my word, I will do everything I can to bring him back."

Luke nodded, not trusting his voice. He swallowed, taking a deep breath before dragging his gaze away from his friend and looking across at the other man in the room, also propped up on pillows. Eyes closed, he appeared to be asleep. "Is Nabrood going to be okay?" he asked.

Yolan opened his eyes, looking over at Luke, nodding in confirmation.

Nejes' smile widened. "Secor Yolan Nabrood is going to be fine. However, he is too proud and too stubborn to take help or advice from anyone!" she teased. "Which is why I threatened to sedate him if he didn't keep the bacta mask on his face and lie quietly!"

Luke gaped at her, knowing that the threat wouldn't be an idle one. Nejes was sympathetic, understanding and reassuring, but she was also prepared to pull rank.

After a protest about not needing to speak to a 'head-doc', Nejes had given Hobbie a reassuring smile, told him that she couldn't sign him off fit-for-duty until she assessed him and that she had no choice but to confine him to sick-bay until he was ready to talk to her. Three hours of boredom with the holo-net not yet active and no-one but the medical droids for company, and Hobbie had changed his mind.

Now, Nabrood narrowed his eyes, glaring at Nejes. She grinned back at him then winked at Luke. "He was determined to recount the feats of bravery of his ancestors which, to be honest, I found rather interesting... but he insisted on taking the bacta mask off to do so. And he needs to heal!"

Nabrood muttered something that, muffled by the mask on his face, Luke didn't quite catch. Nejes, however, grinned again, warning, "I heard that!"

Turning back to Skywalker, she went on, "Now, having worked with you and your colleagues over the past few days, I am well aware that there's no way I'm going to prevent you all from loitering outside: not without either a direct order from Admiral Ackbar, or sedating the lot of you! And as solitude is the last thing that Lieutenant-Commander Antilles needs, I'm prepared to allow you all in here… as long as you all adhere to some ground rules."

Luke nodded, a genuine smile lighting up his face as he assured her, "We will, Ma'am. I'll make sure of it!"

"Good!" she acknowledged, "Then follow me and let's have a word with the other reprobates out there!"

oo0oo

Walking into Medical, Wes Janson looked around, grinning as he saw the small congregation of pilots spread across the seats in the waiting area. Hannif-Brin Aksha was amongst them. Tarn Mison and Zev Senesca were there too.

Mison looked up, getting to his feet as he saw Janson. "You made it then?"

Janson nodded, telling him, "We all did. They're unloading the _Falcon_ and the _Ashwaarya_ now."

He turned, looking at Brin. "Good to see you, buddy. Got a bit concerned when the _Home One_ had to leave you behind..."

Brin grinned, pushing himself to his feet to shake Janson's hand. "The only thing that worried me was having this big lug as my fighter escort!" Brin assured him, nudging Mison with his elbow.

"Hey!" Tarn countered, warning, "That's the last time I form up on your ass to save it!"

"But it's such a perfectly-formed, ass," Alissha Downhigher quipped. "Or, at least, that's what he tells everyone..."

Brin looked at her, "I think you're confusing me with Hobbie. I don't need to brag about my assets."

"Hey!" Hobbie protested, giving Brin a pained look. "Sitting here minding my own business!"

"On your perfectly-formed ass," both Lainey and Janson quipped.

Hobbie scowled good-naturedly, looking from Lainey to Janson to Alissha. "A lesser man would take offense!" he accused.

Lainey leaned across, patting his knee, assuring him, "There, there. You know we love and appreciate you..."

He swatted her hand away, warning, "Keep your hands off this perfectly-formed leg!"

Chuckling, Janson turned back to Brin and Mison asking, "Luke not with you?"

"They let him in to see Wedge," Brin supplied.

The light-hearted atmosphere evaporated as mention of Wedge brought everyone's attention back to the reason for them being there. "How is he doing?" Janson asked.

"Lieutenant-Commander Antilles," Nejes supplied, walking out of the room followed by Luke Skywalker, "is as well as can be expected. I won't lie to you," she went on, as all the pilots got to their feet to listen to her, "he is in a serious condition and, at the moment, he's unresponsive… but that's not unsurprising after everything he's been through."

"Can we see him?" Alissha asked.

"Yes, of course," Nejes assured them. "There will be a few ground rules, however…"

A comlink chimed, interrupting her. Then another chimed. Tarn Mison and Zev Senesca both reached into their pockets. "That'll be our birds fed and watered," Zev offered.

"_Home One_'s ready to jump," Mison told him, reading his display. "We're on escort detail."

Janson sighed wearily as his comlink also chimed. "No rest for the wicked," he grumbled, digging in his pocket.

"You only just landed," Brin commiserated.

"I know," Janson agreed, "but I've got a Commander chasing me for debrief. She gave me a few minutes respite to check on Wedge..."

He trailed off, reading the display, nodding. "Looks like debrief will need to wait. We're on standby alert. I need to go."

He turned, joining Mison and Senesca as they made for the door. All three stopped, however, as the door opened, admitting Admiral Ackbar.

They snapped to attention, saluting smartly. Behind them, the other pilots also stood to attention, saluting the Mon Calamari senior officer. Ackbar returned the salute, ordering, "As you were!"

He looked around the assembled pilots then asked, "Lieutenant Aksha?"

Swallowing down surprise, Brin stepped forward, answering, "Sir?"

"I believe I will also find Lieutenants Janson and Mison here?"

Glancing at each other, the two pilots stepped forward. "Sir."

Ackbar looked from Janson, to Mison, to Aksha. "My compliments to you," he told them, "and to the other pilots left behind at Möerdaast..."

He paused before assuring them, "I do not, as a rule, sanction such conduct. The decision to abandon you was not an easy one. I was most relieved when you all arrived at the rendezvous."

Before any of the pilots could speak, a medical droid trundled towards Ackbar, interrupting, "Admiral?"

Ackbar acknowledged the droid with a nod of his head. Turning his attention back to the assembled pilots, he dismissed them with a "Ladies, Gentleman," before turning and following the droid along the corridor.

Brin blinked, looking across at Mison and Janson, taken aback by the Admiral's personal apology. Tarn Mison looked from Janson, to Brin, to Skywalker, then ventured softly, "But there was nothing else he could do… The Star Destroyer was moving in… If he hadn't jumped…"

He trailed off, leaving the unspoken conclusion hanging in the air.

The comlinks chimed again, one after the other, pulling everyone's attention back to their duties.

Medical Specialist Gemaria Nejes watched the assembled pilots with a professional eye, seeing that Admiral Ackbar had just unwittingly achieved, with only a few words, what some senior officers spent a life-time trying to build. She had no doubt that the story of the Admiral's apology would be embellished and subtly reworked over the coming days: not by Janson, Mison or Aksha themselves, but by the other pilots who had borne witness. The story would spread and Nejes knew that, from now on, personnel serving under Admiral Ackbar would follow him into the jaws of hell, simply because he asked them to.

As Janson, Senesca and Mison headed out of the door, Nejes turned a bright smile on the other pilots. "All right," she began, "Who wants to visit with Lieutenant-Commander Antilles?"

oo0oo

Bren Derlin surfaced slowly into a drowsy world of semi-darkness. He was warm and comfortable. There was a soft, steady beep coming from somewhere, but it wasn't the harsh, insistent grate of an alarm, so he discounted it, happy to simply float, half-aware of the world.

A dull ache settled in the fingers of his left hand. It became a tingling, burning sensation that slowly intensified towards discomfort.

Frowning, Derlin groaned softly, trying to move his hand to relieve the sensation.

At the side of the bed, Ackbar pushed himself out of the chair, looking down at the Special Ops officer. He reached out, laying a gentle hand on Derlin's uninjured shoulder.

"Major?" he asked, quietly. "Major Derlin? Can you hear me?"

The brown eyes fluttered open, focussing slowly.

"Rest easy, son," Ackbar ordered as he saw the recognition in Derlin's gaze. "You've had quite an adventure…"

Derlin looked back at him, blankly, and Ackbar gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before supplying, "You were part of a mission, to the Möerdaast penal facility. How much do you remember?"

Taking a breath, letting it out slowly, Derlin closed his eyes, letting the name run through his mind. Details floated up from murky uncertainty. He licked his lips, beginning, "Chameleon… We were to rendezvous with Chameleon… We were bringing them all out…"

He opened his eyes, looking up at Ackbar, "Antilles?"

"Is in the room across the hall," Ackbar assured him. "The mission was successful. All the prisoners were released from the penal facility…"

Derlin smiled… then frowned, making a soft sound of discomfort as a throb of pain shot up his arm.

"Easy, son," Ackbar told him, laying a supportive hand back on his shoulder.

The pain receded, replaced by a niggle of disquiet. He looked up at Ackbar.

Something had gone wrong: something that merited the presence of a senior Alliance officer at his bedside. Dreading the answer, instinct telling him that it had something to do with the flash of pain burning up his arm, he asked, "Sir… With all due respect… Why are you here?"

Ackbar gave him a long, measured look, deciding that the direct approach was the best way to broach the subject. "You took a blaster bolt meant for Colonel Freyh," he began. "The surgeons did their best... but they couldn't save your arm. They had to take it off above your elbow..."

Derlin looked at him, trying to take the information in, not quite understanding: because he could feel the burning ache in his fingers; he could feel the flare of pain in his wrist and forearm...

"I'm sorry, son," Ackbar consoled. "They tell me," he tried to reassure, "that there will be no problem fitting a prosthetic..."

Derlin swallowed, turning his head, looking down from his shoulder to the dressing that covered his arm just above where his elbow should have been. He took a breath, managing, "Oh..."

"We'll get you sorted, son," Ackbar assured him.

Derlin nodded, unable to drag his eyes away from what was left of his arm.

"You pushed Colonel Freyh out of the way," Ackbar supplied. "You're being cited for a commendation."

Ackbar paused, then finished, "It was a good job, well done, Major."

Derlin swallowed again, nodding, finally turning his head to look at the Admiral, memories of the operation on Möerdaast slowly beginning to surface. He closed his eyes, shaking his head, taking a deep breath.

Losing his arm was nothing compared to the terror that Antilles had suffered. He would be fitted with a prosthetic: it might take a while to get used to, but he would. Wedge Antilles might not have that luxury. The man had been beaten, broken, stripped of just about everything he had ever known...

An image of Brigadier Curzos, using Antilles as a shield, pushed up into Derlin's memory. He opened his eyes, looking up at Ackbar, asking softly, "Curzos? Did they take him down?"

"They did," the Admiral confirmed, "permanently." He paused, to let that information sink in, then he asked, "Will you be okay, son?"

Derlin found a smile, nodding, assuring Ackbar, "Yes, Sir... And thank you, Sir..."

"You are welcome, Major," he assured Derlin. "Now, however," he went on, "I have a bridge waiting for me."

"I understand, Sir," Derlin told him. "Thank you... again..."

Ackbar nodded and turned to go.

"They had a strap around his neck," Derlin found himself saying, unable to banish the image in his head. "Antilles..." he went on, "They beat him, broke him and Curzos still wrapped a leather strap around his neck and tried to choke him..."

He trailed off, the words failing him as he realised that he had no real idea what he was trying to say.

There was a long moment of silence, then Ackbar began, "I have found, that those with no honour will always misuse the power given to them... Earning respect requires leadership and must be built through time. It is easier to bully and intimidate: to use and discard."

He turned, looking at Derlin. "Cruelty will always exist, Major, and the demise of the Jedi allowed the rise of ruthlessness. You and I both know that Lieutenant Commander Antilles will not be the last to suffer under the Imperial machine, but the peoples of this 'great Galactic Empire' have had enough. They are standing up, just as you and I have. They are no longer too afraid to act. In the face of that solidarity, intimidation will no longer have any power."

Ackbar's words steadying him, Derlin closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath, letting it out slowly.

The Admiral was right. The Rebel Alliance was growing stronger every day: not just with personnel but with hardware, software and intelligence. It was only a matter of time. More people were going to have to put their lives on the line but they would, willingly, every day just to see the Empire brought to its knees and a democratic Republic restored to the galaxy.

Derlin was no naive idealist. He had no doubt that the transition would be difficult, but it had to be better than the strangle-hold the Empire had on its citizens.

He opened his eyes, looking back at Ackbar. "Thank you, Admiral."

Ackbar nodded before telling him, "You did a good job, Major. Now, rest up! You'll be on light duties until you get used to the new arm. Echo Base is almost complete. I believe you're to be posted there."


	36. Chapter 36

Part 36

Bren Derlin grinned, peeling off his gloves and stuffing them into the pocket of his jacket before taking the proffered beaker of thick, sweet kaffin from his Lieutenant. "Thank you..."

The Lieutenant returned the grin, telling him, "Thought you would appreciate it, Sir."

Derlin wrapped his hands around the warmth and closed his eyes: lifting the beaker to his lips and inhaling the rich, bitter aroma.

The heat seeped into his hands. He opened his eyes, looking at the synthetic 'skin' of his cybernetic arm. The sensation in that hand was slightly different from the other: almost the same, but not quite. He was so used to it now that he forgot, most of the time, that it wasn't real flesh and bone.

Today, however, it had been playing on his mind.

He took a mouthful of the kaffin, turning to look at the chronometer. Swallowing the hot liquid, he asked, "No notifications of delay?"

"No, Sir," the Lieutenant confirmed, knowing exactly what Derlin was referring to. "The ship's estimate for arrival is still good."

Wedge Antilles and Samoc Farr were returning to duty. They'd both been reassigned to the Rogues and the ship bringing them to Echo Base would be dropping into orbit very soon.

Derlin nodded, taking another mouthful of kaffin. He looked around the hangar then asked, "Is it just my imagination, or is there a sense of anticipation about the place?"

The Lieutenant grinned at him. "I'd say that 'anticipation' was a bit of an understatement, Sir."

Skywalker had told the pilots about Farr and Antilles' return, and the news had spread like flashfire. There had been a buzz of excitement in the Base since, tinged with apprehension, especially amongst the pilots.

Farr had been brought back from the dead: posted killed-in-action following the Alliance attack on the Bilbringi shipyards. Alliance Intelligence had only discovered that she was still alive, and languishing in one of the facilities on Orinackra, when a Rebel agent had infiltrated the Möerdaast penal facility. Farr had been rescued in an extraction operation that had coincided with the mission to the Möerdaast: the mission that had rescued Wedge Antilles, but cost Derlin his arm.

Antilles… The rescued hero: the man who hadn't been left behind.

However, Derlin had overheard a conversation between Hobbie Klivian and Alissha Downhigher, and knew that the pilots were concerned about Antilles, about what his treatment at the hands of the Imperials might have done.

_"But what if it's not him, Hobbie? What if he's changed? What he went through..."_

_"Shhh," Hobbie had replied, softly, assuring her, "We'll deal with it. We treat him like we always did... He might not be Wedge when he gets here, but after a few days of the normal banter, he'll start coming back to us. Nejes promised us, back on the Home One, remember?"_

_Downhigher had made a soft, non-committal sound._

_"And Samoc's coming back too, don't forget," Hobbie had pressed the point. "She's been gone since Bilbringi and Luke says she's doing fine..."_

Almost as if she could read his train of thought, Derlin saw Major Toryn Farr appear on the far side of the hangar. Assigned to Echo Base as the Chief Communications Officer, Toryn was Samoc's older sister.

Draining his already-cooling kaffin, Derlin dumped the empty beaker on what passed as his desk, and headed across to Farr through a hangar that appeared to be getting more crowded. She saw him moving towards her and began making her way to him.

"Hello, beautiful," Derlin greeted as he reached her, teasing, "So, were you on time for duty this morning?"

She glared at him, good-naturedly, returning, "Yes, I was, no thanks to you!"

He grinned at her, reminding, "I offered to fold the game... You were the one who wanted to play out the hand…"

"Only because I knew you were cheating," she countered. "And it's a damned good job I've sat across a sabbac table from you before, mister!" she accused. "Fleecing Palo Torshan like that… Thank the Gods I arrived when I did!"

"I'd have given him his money back!" Derlin chuckled before telling her, "You were a far more interesting opponent!"

"Practice makes perfect," she offered, "especially when you're getting coached by a Wookiee! But enough of that," she went on, turning the conversation towards her reason for being in the hangar, "Samoc and Antilles are here... The transport just hit the atmosphere..."

Derlin's grin widened. "I figured it might be when I saw that smile on your face... Are Skywalker and Solo heading back?" he asked as he turned and headed back to his 'desk'.

Both men were out on Tauntauns doing reconnaissance of the area around the base. Not a way either men would have chosen to spend their morning's duty, but one of the inbound transports had reported seeing movement the day before. Solo had taken the _Millennium Falcon_ to have a look, but found nothing. With the possibility of the engine noise scaring any indigenous life into hiding, and with the snowspeeders offline, General Rieekan had ordered reconnaissance of the area by Tauntaun.

Toryn dropped into step beside Derlin, confirming, "They are… but the ship will reach us before they do."

Derlin nodded, pulling his comlink from his pocket and ordering, "Chizg, hit the warning klaxon and patch me into the hangar comms." There were entirely too many personnel congregating in the hangar for his liking. Not that he blamed them. Everyone knew that Antilles and Farr's arrival was imminent, but as duty Deck Officer, it was his job to ensure the safety of everyone in the hangar.

The soft wail of an alarm cut across the cold air and a voice confirmed, "Patched in now, Major."

"Transport inbound!"Derlin announced, hearing his own voice echo through the hangar. "Transport inbound! All non-essential personnel vacate the main hangar. All non-essential personnel vacate the main hangar."

oo0oo

Jenniiya Elleba, Manwah of the Diazez Cartel, walked out into the warm, afternoon sunshine of the Gehndaarian afternoon. A soft breeze swirled around her, tugging gently at the brightly-coloured curtains that screened the interior of the gazebo in the centre of the garden.

Jenniiya walked down the path towards it, relishing the heat of the sun on her back. The Growing Season had moved into Harvest and the sky would soon cloud over into the storms of the Rainy Season. For now, though, the sun was still warm.

She reached the gazebo, pushing a curtain aside and ducking inside.

Yolan Nabrood dozed in one of the chairs, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Jenniiya watched him for a moment, smiling.

In the months since the Rebel Alliance had delivered him safely home, his wounds had healed and his strength had returned, but the physicians had been unable to completely repair the damage to his lungs. There were still occasions when the breath would catch in his chest, sending him into a spasm of coughing that left him fighting to breathe.

Only when Yolan had been returned to them, had Jenniiya realised how much she truly valued him: his strength, his warmth, his courage, his loyalty. Only when she had held him, talking softly to him as he fought to breathe in the aftermath of a coughing fit that first evening, had she realised how scared she was of losing him again. She had lain beside him for the rest of the night, simply watching him sleep, afraid to leave him.

And when tiredness had finally overtaken her, she had woken to find herself wrapped in his arms, her head pillowed against his shoulder.

The coughing episodes were growing less frequent, but the physicians had warned that they would never entirely leave him and had advocated that he spend the Rains in the high, dry air of the mountains.

The thought of not having him with her, had sent a pang of loneliness through her. Nabrood had said nothing, but she had seen the resolute denial in his eyes.

"Is there something I can do for you, Manwah?" he rumbled softly, eyes still closed. "Or do you simply wish to gaze at the gods-given grace of my mortal frame?"

Jenniiya chuckled, moving towards him, teasing, "Such disrespect for your Manwah! I should have you flogged! Have you forgotten that, as your Manwah, you have given over your mortal frame to me, to do with as I wish."

Opening his eyes, grinning up at her, he countered, "But only in the defence of, and for the good of, the Diazez, Manwah. In all other ways, I am a free man..."

"Aha! Politics!" she responded, sinking into the chair beside him, turning the conversation towards the reason she had sought him out, "If you wish to talk politics, let us talk politics! There is a matter I would have your council on."

Pushing himself straight, sitting up, he uncrossed his arms, catching her hand, drawing it to his lips and kissing her fingers. "What council does the Manwah wish of me?"

She smiled at him, telling him, "I have received news... and it appears that the time may have come to place proposal before the Council: the intention of the Manwah to take a consort..."

He frowned, looking at her, his eyes searching her face. "What…" he began. "What news have you received that brings you to such conclusion?"

Her smile widened. "If all goes well," she told him, "the start of the Growing Season will bring us a child..."

Yolan looked at her, then at her belly, then back to her face. He blinked, swallowing and clearing his throat before managing, "What?"

Jenniiya laughed, reaching up to brush the back of her fingers down his cheek. "You are going to be a father, my love... I have suspected for a few weeks, but physician Vezlentz has just confirmed it..."

A slow, wide smile spread across Nabrood's face. "A child..."

She nodded, confirming, "By the start of Growing Season... And I will need all your help, yours and Lyn's, to stay ahead of the Council, the Alliance and, most importantly, the Empire. Oston is vile and honourless and will come in for the kill if he senses any weakness."

Yolan shook his head, joy and an all-consuming protectiveness surging in his chest. Grasping her hands in his, voice earnest, he assured her, "It will not happen. You will be guarded. The Diazez will be guarded. But, as of now," he went on, "there are no risks taken. Everything is planned, set out, all possibilities examined. As of now, we must be far more clever..."

He stopped, a smile tugging at his lips again as he caressed the back of her hands with his thumbs. "A child..."

oo0oo

Imperial Advisor Alec Pradeux turned, looking towards the door of the Emperor's audience chamber as it opened.

Pradeux had not seen former-Senator Bail Organa since the last time the Rebel had been brought before the Emperor. The situation this time, however, was far different. There was no escort of Imperial guards, nor were there any restraints around Organa's wrists. Instead he was accompanied solely by Ljana Castell.

The ISB officer had been promoted to full Colonel and assigned to head a new department within ISB itself. The continued existence of that department rested on the results of Organa's interview with Palpatine.

After the success of Antilles' public denunciation of Rebel sedition, Bail Organa had been assigned to the same fate. The Emperor had gleefully pronounced that there was far more political value in re-educating his opponents, than in ridding himself of them… and turning them into martyrs.

Pradeux watched Organa as he walked across the floor. He still held himself with a regal bearing. He still moved with the authority Pradeux remembered from before his arrest. His treatment at the hands of Colonel Castell appeared to have had no detrimental affect… except for the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

He slowed as he reached the assembled Imperial Advisors, arranged either side of Palpatine's throne. He ignored them, his attention fixed on Palpatine. Sinking to one knee, bowing his head, he greeted, "Majesty."

Palpatine rose to his feet, stepping off the dais and moving towards him. "Senator Organa," he began, voice dripping with condescension, "you have very much disappointed us. We thought you to be a trusted friend. Instead we find that, even as the Empire was being founded, you were colluding with traitors and plotting sedition with the Jedi: contriving terror at the very heart of our Empire…"

He stopped, looking down at the Rebel sympathiser. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Majesty, I am guilty of all charges laid against me," Organa told him.

Palpatine made a small sound of distaste and then turned, mounting the steps to his throne and sinking into it. Organa didn't move; remaining on his knees with his head bowed.

"And is this all you have to say, Senator?" Palpatine demanded.

Gaze still fixed on the floor, Organa shook his head. Emotion coursed through him: anger at his own foolishness, fear that Palpatine might not execute him but throw him back into the hell of darkness and isolation instead. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to calm himself before admitting softly, "I allowed my heart to rule my actions. I allowed my relationship with the Jedi to cloud my judgement. In my grief at the loss of those I held as friends, despite the horror of the Jedi assassination attempt on your august person, I formed conclusions that were… unsound…"

An image swept up from the depths of his memories: a young Jedi boy, standing in an open doorway, fending off blaster bolts before being cut down. Sorrow and guilt constricted Bail's chest: at the senseless loss, at the line the Jedi had spun to gain his support, at his own gullibility.

Lifting his head, he looked up at the scarred, mutilated face of the Emperor. The Jedi were responsible for the disfigurement. In their lust for power they had tried to murder him, believing that his death would leave the way open for them to seize control of the galaxy. They had reckoned, however, without Palpatine's foresight.

"In my flawed conviction," he told the Emperor, "I failed to see with the clarity you possessed. In my grief, I failed to realise that the Jedi Council coveted the power given to you by the people themselves… In trying to find answers, I railed against your new order. In my anguish, I believed the Empire, not the Jedi, to be flawed."

He paused, taking a deep, steadying breath before admitting to the most heinous crime of all, "I aided Jedi to escape. I helped Kenobi and Yoda hide Anakin Skywalker's children…"

The announcement pulled Palpatine up short. _Children_…

This was unforeseen… and yet it answered questions: about the small tremors in the Force he had sensed, deep in the absorption of meditation.

Vader had encountered the Skywalker boy at Yavin. The security recordings had confirmed the striking resemblance between the youngster and Anakin Skywalker. Kenobi's presence had only given weight to the suspicions about the boy's heritage. Palpatine had questioned Vader closely about young Skywalker but Vader had reported sensing no apparent Force abilities in him.

Palpatine had begun to suspect that conclusion when the presence had appeared within the Force: fleeting, unfocussed and untrained but hinting of power…

He had not foreseen a second or, possibly, third child; one who was apparently coming into their Force legacy. Now that he knew of another Skywalker's existence, however, he would investigate further.

He studied the kneeling figure of Bail Organa. The Senator and Kenobi had been right to hide Skywalker's brats from him. Had he known about the children, he would have had them hunted down and killed with the rest of the Jedi plague. And yet, ultimately, Organa and Kenobi had been unable to keep their deception silent in the face of the power of the Dark Side of the Force.

All that subterfuge, all that planning, come to nothing.

_I helped Kenobi hide Anakin Skywalker's children…_

A memory surfaced: of Vader, reporting that they had allowed Organa's daughter to leave the Death Star aboard a ship that would lead them to a Rebel base. _She would not give up the Rebellion. Her resistance to the mind probe was considerable._

Palpatine took a long, deep breath as realisation swept in.

_Her resistance was considerable…_

Organa had hidden another of Skywalker's children in his own family. Vader had, unwittingly, held Skywalker's daughter within his grasp on the Death Star.

The information about the daughter and her identity would, of course, have to be kept from Vader. The Sith Lord was distracted enough by his encounter with Kenobi and memories of Amidala.

Palpatine leaned back in his chair. "Did you think," he accused, the lie falling easily from his lips, "that we were unaware of Kenobi taking the boy to Tatooine while you hid the girl in plain sight as your own daughter?"

He heard the intake of breath from Alec Pradeux but kept his attention on Organa…

The Senator bowed his head. "Majesty," he began, "I allowed my relationship with the Jedi to cloud my judgement."

"And we are greatly pleased that you have found clarity, Senator," Palpatine countered, keeping his voice soft and unthreatening. "We will speak more on this later."

Rising to his feet, looking at Castell he continued, "Colonel, your assignment is now permanent. You will have your orders within the hour."

Heart hammering in her chest, trying desperately to keep her composure and not allow the pride and excitement to show on her face, Castell drew herself up straighter, saluting the Emperor as he turned, "Thank you, your Highness."

"Have the Senator returned to his quarters," Palpatine told Pradeux, moving past him towards his private rooms. "See to his needs. There are other matters to which I must attend."

oo0oo

Samoc Farr stood at the ship's main hatch. The soft vibration through the soles of her feet died away as the engines spooled down. She tugged on her jacket again, nervous and excited about returning to duty.

She hadn't expected this. As the long weeks had drawn into months and no rescue had come, Samoc had given up hope of ever returning to Rebel lines. Instead, she had focussed all of her energy on simply staying alive… and sane.

It hadn't been easy. The scars on her back and the slightly crooked fingers of her left hand were testament to that: an enduring reminder of what she had survived. As persisting as the memory of watching the life fade from the eyes of the big, brute of a man who had decided she was easy pickings.

She had given him due warning. He hadn't been thinking with his brain, however. Being twice as big as her, he hadn't believed her, either.

Wrenåk, the other Rebel pilot thrown with her into the detention facility, had tried to help but he had been in worse shape than she had been. She had pushed him back, dealing with her would-be attacker herself. Weak from interrogation, only her combat training had saved her…

The man had looked at her in disbelief as he had fallen backwards onto the ground. She had knelt beside him, yelling at him for being stupid and not believing her, as the blood had choked his lungs and slowly suffocated him. It had earned her a respect that had helped keep her and Wrenåk alive when others had died.

Despite the careful, guilt-freeing counselling of Nejes, she had watched him die again in her dreams only the night before.

She sighed, softly.

"Are you okay, Lieutenant?" Nejes' soft voice asked from behind her.

Samoc turned, looking at the Medical Specialist, giving her a wan smile. "Nervous," she admitted. "Excited… but nervous..."

"That's perfectly understandable," Nejes smiled back. "You've been out of the loop for a while. Everything will seem familiar," she reminded gently, "but different… Don't forget that this is a new base, though, so everyone is pretty much still getting used to it."

She turned her attention to the pilot standing beside Samoc. "What about you, Lieutenant-Commander?"

Wedge Antilles looked at her, considering the question for a moment before nodding and assuring her, "I'm okay…"

Nejes smiled. "Well," she told them, stepping back away from them as the hatch opened, "you both know where I am. My door will always be open."

Frigid air rushed in, stinging Wedge's face. He blinked, taken aback, glancing at Samoc, who had quirked an eyebrow in surprise at seeing her breath misting in the sudden influx of icy air. They'd been warned that Echo Base was on an ice planet… but the knowledge hadn't quite prepared either of them for the freezing reality.

"Chilly," Nejes chuckled from behind them, "isn't it?"

The steps had folded down, and locked into place with a clunk. A tall, slender man walked up into the ship, followed by a smaller, slighter figure. Both were wrapped up against the cold.

All three Alliance officers saluted them. Carlist Rieekan returned their salutes, ordering, "At ease, people," before introducing, "General Rieekan, commanding officer of Echo Base." He turned, introducing, "Princess Leia Organa."

Leia gave them a warm smile, acknowledging Nejes with a nod before telling Antilles and Farr, "We are pleased to welcome both of you to Echo Base."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Samoc replied.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Wedge also acknowledged.

Rieekan considered the pilots for a moment before telling them, "Neither the Princess nor I thought you would want any pomp or circumstance about returning to duty… but the folks here have had a hard graft to get this base running and we agreed that some pageantry would be good for morale."

"Your colleagues are assembling in the hangar to greet you," the Princess explained. "The engineers and ground staff too… But there's nothing too formal," she assured them.

"There is, however," she went on, "the matter of Commendations you're both being awarded."

The quickly concealed dismay on both pilots' faces confirmed for Leia what Nejes had reported before signing them both fit for light duty: neither pilot was comfortable with the fact that they were being viewed as heroes. Leia understood that. She had refused to accept a commendation herself, after Yavin. She had cited her rank, her position within the Rebel Alliance: persuading Mon Mothma that it would mean far more to the Alliance personnel if she was to present the medals, rather than receive one.

Luke, Han and Chewbacca had been the heroes of Yavin. All she had done was stay alive long enough to be rescued.

"The Princess and I have both agreed," Rieekan was continuing, "that it's too damned cold to stand around out there for a ceremony, so we have decided to present them here, where there's at least some warmth."

"General Rieekan," Wedge interrupted, unable to stay silent any longer, a small flutter of panic trembling through his gut.

Leia stepped forward, laying a staying hand on the General's arm. Rieekan looked at her, but fell silent.

"You are about to tell us that you have done nothing to warrant a Commendation," Leia began softly. She watched him swallow, and then nod.

Looking at Farr, she asked, "Is this what you also feel?"

The dark-haired woman nodded, confirming, "Yes, Ma'am."

Leia smiled gently at them both, shaking her head in disgreement.

"Wedge," she began, using the pilot's given name, rather than his rank, "I know that your memories of what happened are… sketchy… at best, but your courage in the face of overwhelming odds, along with the courage of the other pilots sent to Gehndaaria, is almost entirely responsible for the Diazez Cartel forging a treaty with the Rebel Alliance. The Diazez honour bravery. Allying themselves with the Rebel Alliance was done in honour of your bravery. Moreover, Yolan Nabrood has confirmed that without your strength and courage, he would have died in a xylpher fire in the mines. You got him out. Only three of you survived the fire."

She stopped, letting him take all of that in.

Turning to Farr, she began, "Samoc… Your resistance to Imperial questioning frustrated them so much that you earned yourself a death sentence. That bravery alone is grounds for this commendation. And when, instead," she went on, "you were consigned to Orinackra, despite having a broken hand, you ensured the survival of both yourself and another pilot who was badly injured. According to Wrenåk Vey, he is only alive because you kept him alive in those first days."

She paused again, looking from Wedge to Samoc. Drawing two, long, flat boxes from the pocket of her duffel, holding them in her hand, she went on, "More importantly, these medals are a sign of hope for everyone out there in that hangar. Just like the medals given to Commander Skywalker and Captain Solo after Yavin, these are a sign of the Empire's ultimate downfall: a tangible reminder that the Empire is not all-powerful, that it can be, and has been, defeated."

Leia's words struck a chord with Wedge. He looked at the boxes in her hand, emotion welling up in his chest. He swallowed it down, fighting for composure.

The Princess was right. The medals were a sign that the Empire wasn't all powerful, that it could be defeated. They echoed his very presence, here and now, on this ship, about to step out into a Rebel Alliance base. The Empire had tried to mind-wipe him: turn him away from everything he believed. For a time, they had succeeded… but only for a time.

That he had saved Nabrood's life was a revelation: although it explained the curved daggers currently packed in his belongings, with the Yolan family crest engraved on the handles, and the accompanying parchment that had read, simply, "_Brother, you have always a place within our halls. Stay strong and return home soon_."

He had very little memory of Gehndaaria and the aftermath. Everything was distorted, fragmented. He remembered Nabrood; he remembered the blond woman in Imperial uniform; he remembered the warmth of the Gehndaarian sun on his face… and a cold, never-ending darkness…

He had been shown the media footage of his forced confession, but he had no recollection of it: nor of being on Corscant.

His mind, Nejes had explained, was protecting him. He might slowly recover his memory, it might all come back, in a flood, at once… or he might never remember.

There were still times when he found himself thinking the Imperial propaganda he had been fed, but those occasions were growing less and less frequent. And the thoughts were easily banished by reaching for one of the data crystal that had arrived for him, regularly, during his convalescence. They held all the get-well wishes and general everyday idiocy from Luke, Hobbie, Alissha, Brin, Janson and others he had flown with. And the occasional messages from a rather gorgeous brunette called Lyn Areese: whom he had apparently met on Gehndaaria, although he didn't remember it.

Pulling himself up, squaring his shoulders, he swallowed down the constriction in his throat, clearing his voice. "Your Highness, General," he began, "Please accept my apologies. I…"

He trailed off, searching for the words to explain what he had just been thinking.

"The Princess Leia is right," he began, finally. "Those medals are a sign of hope… a symbol that the Empire can be stopped. They tried to turn me; they trooped me out in front of the entire galaxy to denounce the Rebel Alliance… but it failed. Instead, it brought more people to the cause. It did the opposite of everything the Empire intended."

He paused, a slow smile pulling his lips. "Those aren't medals for bravery," he told the Princess, "they're medals for tenacity. And on those grounds I will gladly accept one, on behalf of the Rebel Alliance."

Samoc looked at him. Wedge was right. It was sheer bloody-mindedness that had kept her alive on Orinackra. And, if what the Princess said was correct, she had survived despite an execution order. Despite everything the Empire had thrown at her, she was still here.

Samoc grinned then laughed softly, shaking her head. Looking at the Princess, she announced, "Antilles is right. And on those grounds, I will also accept one on behalf of the Rebel Alliance."

Leia was also smiling. She handed the boxes over to the pilots, ordering, "Open them, please."

Stepping forward, she lifted Samoc's medal out of the box, placing it over her head to settle around her neck. Then she turned, lifting Wedge's medal and settling it around his neck.

Rieekan saluted them, telling them, "It is an honour to serve with both of you."

Then he turned, heading out of the hatch and down the steps. Wedge heard him bark, "Parade! Parade, atten-shun!"

The sound of hundreds of personnel moving to attention in unison ricocheted around the ice walls of the hangar. Leia gave both pilots another, wide smile then told them, "After you, Lieutenant, Lieutenant-Commander."

Wedge moved towards the hatch, pausing only to tug his jacket straight. He glanced at Samoc, giving her a quick nod. Samoc took a deep breath, returning the nod. Then, together, they stepped off the ship, back into the ranks of the Rebel Alliance.


End file.
